Learning to Breathe
by SnarkyFanGirl
Summary: War never leaves anyone unchanged.
1. Chapter 1

She's tired.

It's been a long and exhausting journey to get to the point she's at now, and it has taken almost everything out of her. She's so tired that these days she can barely read an entire page in a book without falling asleep. It didn't used to be like that.

Once upon a time, she had the ability to read through an entire book in less than an hour. Once upon a time, she loved to spend endless summer days playing Quidditch with five of her six brothers. Those days she would come back into the house with skin as red as a lobster's shell, but it had been all right, because her closest sibling would always have a sunburn much worse than hers.

Now that seems like a lifetime ago.

Now she's lost interest in Quidditch. She quit the team during her fifth year, when the war with Voldemort came to a head. She had too many other things to worry about; had too many other adventures to go on, and couldn't be arsed to go to practice. Harry somehow still found a way to go, and so had Ron, but not her. She'd re-prioritized, and Quidditch hadn't made her list of things to do.

She thinks about these things as she wanders through the halls of Hogwarts, walking with her head down and her eyes glued to the stone floor. She dwells on these things during classes, and subsequently forgets to listen to the Professors. They all know that her grades have fallen, and they all know why. It's nothing new to them; after Harry fought his final battle, they noticed that it was a common phenomena among the students, and they didn't question it.

She drops her bookbag on the floor beside her desk and sinks into the chair, her eyes never leaving the desktop. Today will be the day they send her into tutoring, and she's been dreading it for weeks. She knew that eventually things would reach this point, although she's the first to admit that it's her own fault things went this far. She's just been too tired to care.

This evening, she's been sentenced to sit through a tutoring session with a seventh year, and she's less than excited about it. She knows that the seventh years who are tutoring feel the same way (except, perhaps, Hermione). She knows because she hears them whispering about it in the loos and the corridors when they think they're alone.

Hannah Abbott tells Susan Bones that she's been stuck with Colin Creevey, and she rolls her eyes as she explains that he's failing Herbology. This comes as no surprise to Ginny, since she remembers that in the final battle, Colin was stuck facing off with some enchanted greenery on the Malfoy property.

Blaise Zabini, one of the few non-Voldemort supporting Slytherins tells Harry that he's been assigned a Ravenclaw girl that Ginny has had one class with, though hearing the girl's name doesn't call a face to her mind. Ginny also knows that Harry has not been allowed to tutor, for whatever reasons that Dumbledore sees fit to exclude him this time.

Harry is more relaxed these days, now that Voldemort is gone and he has no life-or-death battle to fear, although now he seems listless. Ginny has overheard him admitting to Ron and Hermione that he doesn't know what to do with himself any longer. For so long, all he has been is The Boy Who Lived, and now he has fulfilled his destiny and defeated Voldemort again. He is lost and confused, and fears that his lack of direction will have lasting effects.

Ginny often wonders if his nightmares still come. She remembers a time before the last battle when he would wake the entire Tower, screaming in terror. Dumbledore later told them that Harry had been having prescient dreams for months, and the reasons for his night terrors were gone, once the battle was over.

So now she sits behind the desk, staring at the desktop as Professor Binns drones on about something she has no interest in. She has not even bothered to remove quill and parchment from her bookbag, which no one else notices. She is not surprised at this. These days the students are all busy just trying to cope with what's happened.

Hogwarts seems a little empty now, without the Slytherins around.

Well, there were still _some_ Slytherins around – just not the entire house. Professor Snape had light duty these days, with only a handful of his students left to oversee. There were three, to be exact. Zabini, Bulstrode, and Tracey Davis. Tracey's parents had never cared about the war to begin with, so her family remained in tact. Millicent had run away from home when the battle had begun, and Dumbledore had let her hide at Hogwarts, where she'd been safe. Zabini had simply refused to fight, and had been hexed to hell and back by his own father.

He still walked with a limp, although it wasn't as noticeable as it had once been.

Blaise had actually surprised everyone when he'd approached Harry after the battle and asked to shake the hand of Voldemort's defeater. After that, Blaise had become a regular face at meal and study times, and he'd become fast friends with the Golden Trio. Since there were no longer enough Slytherins to fill their table in the Great Hall, he'd taken to sitting with the Gryffindors.

Personally, the whole situation made Ginny's stomach ache.

She'd never been a big fan of the Slytherins, so to speak, but she was smart enough to realize that the school needed them. The school needed the cunning (and sometimes evil) students to balance out the other three houses, and now they were gone. She'd been especially chagrined at the losses of Malfoy and his goons, as much as she'd disliked them. Malfoy had remained unchanged until the end, still insulting those he deemed lower than himself, and generally looking down his pointy nose at everyone.

She would never admit it to anyone, but Ginny missed the normality of his hurled insults and superior smirks.

She realizes with a start that class has been dismissed, and she reaches for her bookbag, slinging it over her shoulder with one fluid movement. She waits patiently until all of the students have exited the classroom before she leaves – she finds that it's easier to go unnoticed that way.

She tucks a strand of copper hair behind her left ear as she walks, to stop the hairs from moving around and tickling her nose. She wishes vaguely that she could cut her hair shorter than Ron's, because then she wouldn't have to worry about it getting in her face again. She knows that her Mum would never allow it, and so she doesn't ask.

She makes her way slowly to the Great Hall, and takes her usual seat across from Hermione. Today it would seem that Hermione is preparing for her tutoring session, since she sits with a textbook spread open on the table in front of her. When Harry enters flanked by Ron and Blaise, Hermione quickly tucks the book away, not wanting to hurt Harry's feelings by reminding him that he won't be tutoring as well.

Ginny is amazed by their continuity; by their ability to go on the way they do. Anyone looking at Hermione, Harry, and Ron would never guess that they'd faced death and come out unscathed – they would probably be deceived into believing that they were simply normal teenagers, and close friends.

Ginny studies them with religious fervor, and she knows how deceptive their appearances are. She knows how they achieve their comfort, and she knows that they have no idea that anyone else in the world has any idea. One night several months ago, they were all at the Burrow, and everyone had gone to bed. Ginny had awoken thirsty, and had tiptoed around Hermione's bed before she'd realized that it was empty.

When she'd gone downstairs to get a drink of water, she'd heard noises out in the garden, and had gone to satisfy her curiosity. What she'd seen really shouldn't have been as much of a surprise as it had been; it should have been something she'd expected. Now that she thought about it, it seemed perfectly normal, and a reasonably predictable thing to have happened, considering the amount of time that Hermione, Ron, and Harry spent together.

She glances over at Blaise and notes the rosy spots on his cheeks, and wonders briefly if he's begun joining them. When she sees him glance over at a pretty Hufflepuff girl, she knows this is not true, and that the girl is the reason for his flushed, glowing skin. She wonders if she's the only one who isn't in love; who doesn't have someone.

Hermione looks up and smiles beatifically as the boys take their seats and surround her. Ginny thinks that they way they always flank her makes it seem as though she's encased in a cocoon or a bubble, and she wonders that her friend doesn't seem to mind it in the least.

She finishes her dinner and leaves the table silently, unnoticed as they begin regaling Hermione with tales of Professor Trelawney's latest facetious predictions. The last thing she hears as she walks through the doors of the Great Hall is the tinkling of Hermione's laughter, and she does her best to ignore it.

She heads towards the library and the study room to which she's been assigned, and she takes her seat to wait for her tutor. She knows that she is almost a half an hour early, but she has nothing else to do and nowhere else to be at this hour, and so she waits. Forty five minutes later, the door to the study room opens.

She smells him before she sees him, and she can feel her eyes widening and her pulse quickens. When he finally moves around to the opposite side of the table and sits down, she stares. He frowns at her intense gaze, and pulls a book out of his bookbag. She can feel her curiosity growing, and it forms a burning pool in her stomach as she waits for him to speak. When he remains silent, she clears her throat. She can see his jaw clench and realizes that he is prepared for her scrutiny. Even more curious to her is the fact that he doesn't shrink away from it – instead he looks up and meets her eyes with his own.

"Go ahead and ask me," he says flatly. "I can tell you want to. Might as well get it over with now, so we can get on with what needs to be done."

"I thought you were dead." This statement doesn't surprise him, although she can tell that it wasn't what he thought she'd say first.

"Obviously you thought wrong." He looks down at his book and opens it, leafing through sections until he comes to the place he's looking for. "Are we going to study, or not?"

"You're not in school anymore. What are you doing here?" She struggles not to sound accusing, but it doesn't work. He arches an eyebrow and glances up again. She is suddenly overcome with the need to touch him; to make sure that he's really there, and not just a memory that she's somehow managed to project in front of herself.

"I am in school. Just because I don't live with the rest of the Slytherins doesn't mean that I'm not still here."

"Where do you live now?"

"Dumbledore has arranged special quarters for me. No one else knows I'm here except you and the teachers. Can we start now? Is your curiosity satisfied? Because I have other things that I could be doing."

"Don't you get lonely, living by yourself?" Something in her voice makes him look up, and she can see that he wants to say something. He struggles to hold it in, but it looks to be a losing battle. His head bows and he closes his eyes, as though he's trying to forget something.

"Sometimes," he admits, to her surprise.

"Why don't you ask him to let you live somewhere else?" At this, he looks up.

"And where would I go? Everyone else thinks I'm either dead or that I've run away. The dungeons aren't my home anymore. I don't fit in with any of the other houses. I don't belong anywhere now."

"If that was true, you _would_ have run away," she accuses, her brow furrowing. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Why must you talk so much? You're giving me a headache, and I won't be able to get rid of it."

"Why not?"

"I'm not allowed to brew potions in my room, and I can't go to Madam Pomfrey."

"Why not?"

"The other students might see me if I did."

"Do you want me to get you some headache potion?" she offers softly. He seems genuinely surprised at her offer, and seems to consider it, before he shakes his head and turns his attention back to the book that's lying open on the table. "If you don't want the other students to know that you're here, why did you volunteer to tutor?"

"I didn't. Dumbledore is forcing me to."

"I expect he's trying to resocialize you," she muses. He nods in agreement.

"It won't work. I don't care to be resocialized."

"Why not?"

"People are stupid."

"Why don't you tell them what happened?"

"You're the only one who knows what happened," he whispers, sighing. He turns his head and stares out the window at the streaks of red and orange that are swirling across the evening sky. "I know you saw me."

"How do you know?" she asks, not denying anything.

"I smelled your perfume," he admits. She is surprised at this; she didn't think that anyone ever paid enough attention to her to remember the type of perfume that she favored. She is silent for a moment, processing this new tidbit of information before she speaks again.

"You requested to tutor me." She realizes as she says the words that they're true, although she can't quite understand why.

"Yes," is all he says. She nods and takes her book out of her bag, placing it on the table in front of her. He seems relieved that she is going to drop the subject and leave things where they lie, and then thinks better of it. "Why aren't you asking me more?"

"What else should I ask you?"

"Why I did it. How I got out of being punished for it."

"I don't care why you did it – you know your reasons. And you _are_ being punished for it."

"Am I?"

"Aren't you? You're being punished by isolating yourself from everyone else. I'd say that that's a pretty hefty punishment."

"And you don't care why I killed my own father?"

"Your father was a bad man, Malfoy. If you hadn't done what you did, who knows what else he would have done – who else he would have hurt."

"I loved my father."

"I don't doubt that."

"Why did I kill him, then?" She hears the note of desperation in his voice, and understands. He knows that what he's done is right, but for whatever reason, he can't figure out _why_ it was right.

"He would have killed you if you hadn't."

"How long were you there, watching?"

"Long enough to know that you did it in self defense," she murmurs, checking his text to make sure that she's on the same page that he's on. "Long enough to learn that despite what I thought, you are not your father." At this, he turns his face away.

"You're the only one who thinks that."

"Dumbledore must think it, too, or you wouldn't be here right now," she points out, reaching for some parchment and a quill. He gives her another odd look before he quits talking about himself and begins to tutor her in potions.

Much later, when she returns to Gryffindor Tower, she realizes that during the entire two hours in which they were stuck together, he never insulted her. He remained focused and on task, and she is struck by the thought that she actually paid attention to him. These days she finds it hard to listen to anyone, and she wonders what it means that he's the one who's finally gotten her attention.


	2. Chapter 2

She is neither surprised nor disappointed when no one asks her who her tutor is, and for once she is grateful for the fact that people still tend to tiptoe around Harry. Studying with Draco is her secret, and she's feeling selfish about it. She moves quietly through the common room, past Harry and Ron's intense game of chess, past Neville's nightly discussion with Hermione, and up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

She sits down on her bed and reaches over to her nightstand, withdrawing a small, crimson book from the drawer. Her journal is beaten and well worn, and the cover is missing. The spine is creased. The pages are yellowing, and yet she can't seem to part with it. She's written in it every night since she turned nine years old, and she finds immense comfort in the ritual.

The journal has been her closest friend and confidante ever since Ron left for Hogwarts, leaving her at home alone with her parents for the majority of the year. The only time she's ever neglected to write in it, in fact, was during the brief period when she wrote to Tom Riddle in his journal.

She has never been able to recall the incidents in which she wrote on the wall with any amount of clarity; at best they are foggy recollections that only show her how weak willed she once was. She is not like that anymore, and sometimes she wishes she could have thanked Tom for that.

Hermione knows that she keeps a journal, and she regularly cautions Ginny about it. Her words of warning always go in one ear and out the other, however; Ginny knows that she could never tell a live person the things that she writes about in her journal.

One of those things is Draco Malfoy.

She pulls a quill from the side table drawer and begins to write quickly, lest she be discovered by Hermione again. She writes his name and the necessary descriptives – the familiar scent of the cologne he's favored since his third year, the new way he styles his hair by letting it fall in loose waves around his face, and the new way he speaks to her. She also documents the things about him that have _not_ changed – the arrogant way he walks, the color of his eyes, the way his mouth turns up on one side when he smirks.

She chews on the feathered end of her favorite quill as she pauses to think about this last thing. He still smirks, she is sure of it – but had he done it while they were together tonight? She cannot remember, so she writes that down as well, making a note to remind herself that she wants to watch more carefully next time to see if he does it.

She finishes writing in her journal and puts it away, being sure to cover it back up with the parchments full of her doodling. She knows that if Hermione gets it in her head to go snooping and finds these pages, she will stop. The pages are from Ginny's first and second year, and contain nothing but her name and Harry's intertwined with tiny hearts. She keeps them because they remind her that she isn't the same person that she used to be, and that hero worship should never be mistaken for love.

She extinguishes her candles and changes into her bedclothes, and then crawls beneath the down comforter that she loves so well. She closes her eyes and the first thing she sees behind them is him, looking defeated even as he retains his regal mannerisms.

Two days pass without another tutoring session being arranged, and Dumbledore calls her into his office to question her about this. She tells him the truth – that she didn't realize that all of the meetings weren't prearranged. The old man watches her carefully over those same half moon spectacles that he's worn forever, and she weighs her next question very heavily in her mind before she asks it.

"Where does he sleep?"

Dumbledore doesn't seem surprised by this question, and in truth, even appears to be mildly amused by it. He confides in her that the old Astronomy Tower, the one that Hogwarts stopped using in the mid 70's because of the ghoul that haunted it, has been refurbished for Draco's use. She knows the place he speaks of, and thanks him quietly before leaving and heading straight to Madam Pomfrey.

Once in front of Madam Pomfrey, she begs for several bottles of headache relief potion, spinning a tall tale of how she sometimes wakes in the mornings with unbearable migraines. She says that she fears that not having the potions will render her unable to attend her morning classes, and cries real tears when she says that a good education is her only sure escape from a life of poverty. Madam Pomfrey tsk-tsks and takes pity on her, giving her more vials of potion than she is sure she can carry.

She thanks the kind woman profusely and heads towards the tower, eager to give Draco the gifts she's brought him. She stops when she gets halfway there, and realizes that she has not had dinner. She doesn't think twice about tickling the pear and sneaking to the kitchens, where she manages to sweet talk Dobby into giving her enough food for a small army. She makes him promise not to tell anyone that he's seen her, and then continues on her way to Draco's room.

When she arrives at her destination, she is unsurprised to find that his door is unlocked. She knocks lightly before entering, and within seconds, he appears and frowns at her. She is mildly surprised when he doesn't rage at her and demand to know what she's doing there, so she decides to tell him of her own volition.

"Dumbledore says that you and I are to begin meeting every night."

He takes a moment to digest this, and then shrugs lightly before turning his back to her and sitting down at his desk. She shifts her weight nervously from one foot to the other, wondering what she should say first.

"I brought you some headache relief potion." She places approximately twelve vials on his desk, and he doesn't even so much as glance at them. She realizes that she hadn't expected him to, either. She sits the basket full of food down on the floor and begins to withdraw the sandwiches. He turns and gives her an incredulous look, and she is aware that it's the most emotion he's shown since she saw him three days ago.

"What are you doing?"

"I missed dinner by getting the potions for you, so I brought it with me."

"You have a lot of nerve, sitting down like you just belong here."

"I don't fancy eating standing up," she explains, pulling out a container of heavily iced pumpkin juice. This seems to get his attention, and he is silent as he watches her remove the other food items from the basket. When she has a veritable feast spread out before her, she looks up at him. "I brought enough for you, too."

"You brought enough for several people," he observes with a sneer. "Are you expecting guests?"

She ignores his comment, although she is heartened by it. It feels as if the old Malfoy that she used to know still lives here, just beneath a shell of his own creation. She eats in silence, and finally he gets the idea and picks up a sandwich of his own. He regards her with open curiosity, and she basks in it, until they have finished eating. She replaces the leftover food in the basket, careful not to include anything that she has nibbled off of. He watches as she places the basket on the floor next to his desk and pulls her book from her backpack, readying herself for tonight's study session.

"Whoa," he says, holding his hands up. She stops her movements and looks up at him. "I never agreed to a session tonight."

"I see," she says, hating the frown that she feels gathering on her face. She puts her book back into her bag and rises from her place on the floor. "I'll be back tomorrow night, you know."

He sighs and his rigid posture gives way to the slumped shoulders of a man who's been beaten into submission. While he tries to form a response, she glances around his room. She notices that his bed is unmade, and that his sheets and coverlet are in a tangled heap at the foot of the bed, and that there is an open book splayed across his night table. She knows that all of these things are unmistakable signs of insomnia, because she suffers from it as well.

"Won't your housemates notice that you've gone missing again?" he asks, in a desperate attempt to get her not to return. She is ready for this objection, though, and discounts it before the grain of doubt has time enough to plant itself in his mind. She will not be kept at bay, now that he's back and she has a chance to get back the normality that she once knew.

"They wouldn't notice me if I wore nothing but Dobby's tea cozy and did a belly dance in front of them."

Something surfaces in his eyes, and before she has time to correctly identify it, he nods and turns away from her. She lets herself out, but not before casting a quick warming charm on the basket of food. She returns to Gryffindor Tower and is climbing into bed before she realizes with startling certainty what it was that he was trying to hide from her.

His laughter.

The next day passes mostly in a haze, and she is surprised at herself to be anticipating her tutoring session as much as she does. She skips lunch and sits impatiently through Professor Binns' class, even answering a question he asks despite the fact that he's called her Amanda. She shrugs this off, as well as the stunned looks that she's getting from her classmates. She's not usually one to speak in her classes anymore, but today she wants to give no one reason to detain her.

Before dinner, she goes to her room and unlocks the trunk that she keeps at the foot of her bed. She removes a bottle of dreamless sleep draught along with four empty vials. She divides the draught between the bottles, saving only one vial for herself, and puts the empty draught bottle and single vial back into her trunk. For some reason, it occurs to her to grab one of her favorite books as well – just in case he decides not to take the potion and has finished his own book. She relocks the trunk and heads down to the kitchen for the second night in a row.

This time she doesn't see Dobby and is careful not to mention that she's a friend of his; the other house elves are still wary of his desire for freedom, and she fears that if they know that she knows him, they will skimp on the food.

When she reaches Draco's tower, she raps lightly on the door once before entering. He is in the same place where he was the previous night when she left him. If she couldn't smell the soap or see his wet hair hanging around his shoulders, she would think that he'd never left that chair. He doesn't look up as she comes in, and she sits in a small but comfortable chair in front of the small fire.

She opens the food basket she's brought with her, but tonight she only takes out two sandwiches and a small container of milk. She leaves the rest of the things in the basket and closes the lid before using her foot to slide it over to him. He ignores it, and she wonders how long it will take for him to open it and discover the sleeping draughts inside.

He opens his book and turns pages until he's where he wants to be, then speaks without looking up. "Page ninety seven, paragraph two. You answered this wrong on your last exam." She looks up, surprised that he's been given access to her exam.

She turns to the page he's indicated, and reads the paragraph carefully. She is slightly distracted when he opens the food basket and freezes. He's only paused for a millisecond, but she knows what it means. He's seen the draughts. She wonders if he knows what they are, since she's forgotten to label them.

"Alihotsy stinks," she mumbles, staring at the page again.

"No, you're thinking of Hellebore. Alihotsy has no smell at all."

"I meant figuratively, not literally."

"Oh."

She pauses for a moment in thought before speaking again. "Alihotsy does so stink. When you break the leaves open, it smells horrible."

"You're not _supposed _to break the leaves open," he says impatiently. "You don't have to eat the leaves in order to be affected by them. The smell alone can make you wonky."

"That's a very interesting kernel of knowledge to possess," she observes, filing this away in her memory. And then there it is; his smirk. She takes a deep, silent breath and stares at him, trying to burn the image of him smirking into her brain. She never wants to lose that picture again.

"It is, indeed," he agrees, the smirk fading as quickly as it came. Disappointment rolls over her in waves, and it's so strong that she wonders if he can feel it, too. He bends over her exam again, frowning in thought. "Your essay answers are barely legible. You have sloppy handwriting."

"It's my downfall, what can I say," she quips back. His frown deepens, and she sighs inwardly. She'd been hoping that he'd laugh again, but apparently he has prepared himself for this possibility and is dead set on preventing it from recurring.

"I can't read your answers well enough to help you." He pushes her exam away, and she rises from her seat. She stands behind him and bends over to look at her paper, not realizing that her copper hair is falling around his face as she does so.

"I can read it just fine," she says, her eyes moving over the page one line at a time. He brushes her hair away from his face with the back of his hand and manages to level a glare at her.

"I don't know what worries me more," he says, shaking his head. "That you can actually read it, or that you managed to write something this illegible in the first place."

"Why should it worry you at all?" she asks. He rolls his eyes.

"I meant figuratively, not literally."

"Oh."

"Weasley?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you bring me a sleeping draught?" He doesn't look at her as he asks; instead his eyes are focused on the quill that he's gripping. She notices that his knuckles are white from the effort he's exerting, and she wonders that the quill hasn't snapped in two yet.

"I don't know," she lies. "I guess I just thought that you might need it. Everyone has trouble sleeping sometimes, and you don't have any access to healing potions. I don't want you to have an excuse to miss our sessions."

She can tell that he doesn't believe a word of what she's just said, but he nods anyway. That is all the thanks she will get from him, and they both know it. She is curious to know when he will take the food out and find the book underneath everything, but she doesn't say anything about it.

"Translate this," he commands, pointing at an essay response. She reads it out loud to him, and then waits for him to tear it apart. He frowns. "I don't understand. It's not perfect, but it's not bad enough to have warranted such low marks."

"Professor Snape doesn't take well to handing out high marks to Gryffindors," she points out. He shakes his head slowly.

"It's not like him not to give credit where credit is due," he retorts.

"It is when the credit is due to a Gryffindor." He turns at this and looks at her.

"Is he _really_ this biased?"

"Didn't you know he was?"

"I suppose I did, and just didn't care because it was in my favor." He pauses, and then: "Is this the only reason that you need help in potions? Because if it is, all you'd have to do is talk to Dumbledore, and I'm sure he'd fix it."

"Dumbledore knows."

"He can't know. He'd never let something like this continue if he did."

"He does, and it continues because he trusts Snape to do the right thing… eventually. And sometimes he surprises us and does, just not when the Gryffindors are the ones involved."

"It must be frustrating to know that you're doing good work and receiving low marks for it anyway."

She shrugs even though her heart skips a beat as his admission that she's done a good job. "It doesn't bother me as much as it bothers Harry." Draco's expression darkens.

"Are you talking about Potter?" he asks, disdain saturating his features.

"The one and only. Snape has been doing this to him ever since he came to Hogwarts. It bothers him to the point of just copying from Hermione most of the time. Even when he does that, though, Snape gives him less than stellar marks."

"I don't understand."

"He wanted Harry to get better at Potions because he knew that Harry would ultimately have to face Voldemort. My guess would be that he was just harder on Harry because he expected more from him than anyone else – and now that Voldemort is gone, he just doesn't know how to change."

"Interesting theory," he murmurs, the disdain gone now.

"Do you miss flying?" she asks suddenly, resting her hand on the back of his chair. He gapes at her for a moment.

"What business is that of yours?"

"It's not," she concedes, tilting her head to one side as she regards him. "But I'm curious."

"Well, you can _stay_ curious," he snaps, concentrating on her exam again. She goes back to her place on the floor and sits down. The rest of the tutoring session continues without incident, and Draco doesn't entertain any more of her attempts at conversation. When she leaves, she takes the empty basket she used to bring up the food the last time she came.

She takes her time going back to her dormitory, thinking hard on her tutor. She wonders why he hasn't objected more forcefully to her repeated visits to his quarters, and when she returns to her bedroom, puzzles over it at length in her journal. She muses that perhaps he sees enduring her presence as some sort of penance. She begins a list in her journal, with this idea at the very top.

For the second reason, she lists the potions that she keeps bringing to him. What he hasn't asked and she won't volunteer is the information pertaining to where she keeps getting the potions.

Madam Pomfrey continues to give her the headache potions, but has stopped giving her the dreamless sleep draught, despite her very real pleas for it. She needs the draught to sleep almost as much as Malfoy does, but the nurse is adamant in her refusal. War survivors are given an allotment of the draught every month, and Ginny has already exceeded hers.

Ginny considers going to Dumbledore about the situation, but feels that since the man is already semi-omnipotent, he is already aware of it. If he doesn't intercede on either her behalf or Malfoy's, there must be a reason. And so that night, she tosses and turns, unable to sleep. She resolves to be more careful with her draught next time, and save enough for herself before she gives Malfoy some.

She awakens the next morning to the sounds of Hermione singing badly. She is cranky and sore; the night has not been kind to her. She pulls aside the curtains on her bed and winces when her bare feet touch a very cold floor. Ignoring Hermione's concerned looks, she grabs her towel and robe and heads to the showers. After she has bathed, she feels better, though she is still tired. When she looks at her reflection in the small mirror, she realizes what Hermione must have been looking at. There are dark smudges beneath her eyes from the lack of sleep, and she reminds herself to cast a concealment charm when she gets back to her room.

Today is Friday, and she knows that it is her last day of tutoring with Malfoy for a while, since it is the last weekend before the Christmas break. She heads down to the Great Hall to eat, and is unsurprised to find Blaise beside Harry. Both boys are laughing with their heads thrown back, and Ginny is struck by the thought that it might be Malfoy by Harry's side, if things had turned out differently. Because really, where is the difference between Blaise and Malfoy?

Malfoy refused to fight the same as his fellow Slytherin; it was just hard to convince people that he wasn't a spy of some sort. If Blaise's father had been one of the most renowned Death Eaters, he might be the one hiding in a tower instead. The thought angers her, and she looks away when Blaise tries to smile at her. She notices how his smile falters, but sees also how it lights right back up when he turns back to his friends.

She is silent throughout breakfast, and mostly stares at the empty Slytherin table while she eats. She stares a lot when she's tired, so her brother doesn't see anything amiss, and stops Hermione's questions before they start.

She doesn't notice when the quartet of friends leaves, and is somewhat dismayed when she realizes that they're gone. She isn't upset over their absence; she is upset because she has missed them leaving due to her exhaustion. She prides herself on noticing everyone and everything, and it is clear to her that today she is too tired to exert the effort it takes.

She sleepwalks through her classes, not blinking when Professor Snape is the only one who assigns the students homework over the holiday break. She skips lunch, opting to return to her room and try to take a nap. She gets a total of fifteen minutes of sleep before it is time to go to her last class of the day, Transfiguration. After class, she returns to her room and withdraws her journal from the side table drawer, and turns to the page where her list is.

She writes at the very, _very_ bottom of the page: _He likes to spend time with me._ After she stares at the words for a moment, they seem alien, and she crosses them out.


	3. Chapter 3

Tonight she is slow to climb the stairs to his room. She is so tired that she feels winded after making it up four steps, and she has to stop and rest. The only solution that she can come up with as she makes the trek is that tomorrow, she will have to travel to Hogsmeade and buy some dreamless sleep draught with the last of her precious money.

She stops in front of his door and bends over with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Suddenly his door whips open and he is standing in front of her, staring. She straightens up and meets his gaze, wondering at the frown that crosses over his face. He looks rested and well, and she is proud of herself for sacrificing the draught for him.

"You're late." He turns and heads back into his room, taking his place at his desk. She flops down gracelessly on the floor and crosses her legs, then takes her notes out of her bookbag. She glances up and is surprised to see that the book she gave him last night is on his night table, and there is a bookmark sticking out of the middle of it. She also notes, before she turns away, that his bed is neatly made and that the pillows are fluffed.

"You look like hell," he murmurs, not looking up from his desk. She narrows her eyes at him and scowls.

"Thank you for that, Captain Obvious," she says waspishly. It is only then that she remembers that her glamour charm from early this morning must have worn off, and inwardly she groans.

He looks up, surprised by her tone, and she waves her hand dismissively. "I'm sorry. Go on, make with the tutoring."

"Don't tell me what to do, Weasley," he says, aggravated.

"If you'd just do it, I wouldn't _have_ to tell you."

"Someone is cranky today, aren't they?" he asks, smirking. She knows that he doesn't realize that in giving him her draughts, she is losing valuable sleep, and so she doesn't hold it against him, even though she wants to. She knows that he doesn't know about the horrors that visit her when she _does_ sleep, though she highly suspects that they visit him when he sleeps, too.

"And if I am? What of it?"

"You really should be nicer to someone who's trying to help you, you know."

"It's not as if you're doing it out of the goodness of your own heart," she replies, rolling her eyes. "You're being forced to, remember?"

"I'm being forced to tutor. I'm not being forced to tutor _you_."

"Oh, right. I forgot – Saint Malfoy, taking on the youngest Weasley!" She touches the back of her hand to her forehead and pretends to swoon. To her great surprise, he grins. It is a real smile, too, she can tell. The corners of his eyes crinkle up, and the wrinkles in his forehead smooth away. She is too stunned to respond, but she knows immediately that she likes his smile.

"You're stupid." His smile has faded, but his voice indicates that he is clearly still amused. She shrugs.

"What can I say, it's a gift."

He abandons hope of a response and they manage to muddle through the rest of the session without further incident. When she is packing her things back into her bookbag, he turns his back to her and moves to stand in front of one of his windows.

"I expect I'll see you in two weeks," he says. She looks up and her hand stops moving just above her bag. She can hear something in his voice; something that she is sure that she is not meant to hear.

"I guess so," she agrees, sliding her book into the bag. "I mean, I'm not going home for Christmas, so if you were walking the halls, I'd see you. But since I know you're not prone to doing that, then yeah, it'll probably be two weeks."

"You're not going home?" he asks, still facing the other way. "I thought that all war survivors visited family as frequently as they could after the war ended."

"You'd be surprised," she mumbles. "My brother is going home, and he's taking Harry, Hermione, and Blaise, but I just couldn't deal with the crowd this year." At the sound of his old housemate's name, he turns.

"Zabini is going to your home, with _Potter?_"

"They're great friends," she says, nodding. "Actually, I'd be surprised if anyone else is staying in Gryffindor Tower, except for me."

"Your parents have so many children that they probably won't even notice that you're gone," he accuses meanly. She is not insulted or hurt by this jab; she has heard it too many times before. Where it used to hurt, now it brings comfort instead. She wonders if it means that he's healing and becoming what he used to be.

"You're right, and this is one time that it works to my advantage." She stares at him for a moment before turning and heading towards his door. When she reaches it, she turns and finds him still staring at her. "Happy Christmas." He nods curtly, and she leaves without another word.

He stands there until her footsteps can't be heard on the stairwell anymore, and then he lets his shoulders slump and exhales in relief. Originally he had wondered where she was getting the sleeping draught from, but after seeing her tonight, he realizes that she must have given him her own store. What he can't figure out is _why_.

Why should she sacrifice her own sleep, and therefore her own health, to allow him peace? He doesn't deserve peace; he has murdered his own father, his own flesh and blood. In the end, Dumbledore tells him that he did the right thing under the circumstances, but he's not so sure.

He knows that his father was not himself that night, and that he had been about to offer Draco to the Dark Lord in sacrifice. The Dark Lord needed pure blood freely given in order to seal his victory, and Lucius had offered his only son. Draco knew that he would never forgive his father for that, no matter how much he'd loved him.

He knew that she'd been there, in that field. Even before he had argued with his father, he'd smelled her perfume and had recognized it. It had haunted him since that day in Umbridge's office when she'd hexed him. He'd thought it stupid at the time, but he'd developed an interest in her after that. Her seemingly ruthless manner and talent with the hex made him want to know more about her.

So he'd begun following her at every opportunity, noticing things that bothered him. No one ever spoke to her when the Golden Trio wasn't nearby, unless they wanted something. Even though he never saw so much as an adoring look cast in his direction from her, Draco knew that everyone was wrong when they said that she was head over heels for Potter. She had been at one time, perhaps, but that time had obviously passed.

He spent so much time following her that the scent of her perfume was unmistakable, and alerted him to her presence, no matter where he was when he smelled it. It was no different the night he murdered his father, though he was ashamed that night to smell it. He couldn't understand why, but the thought of her chocolate eyes seeing him _Avada Kedavra_ his father made him cringe.

He turns around and goes to his bed, where he sinks down in grateful release. Without thinking, he reaches for the book she's snuck him, and he smiles. He doesn't know why she's given him the book, and he wonders if she knows that she's given him a love story to read.

He starts to open the book to the page he left off at last night, but his hand pauses in midair as he realizes that he'd left a book lying around before when she'd been to his room. Had she noticed that, and thought he needed a new one to read, or does she know of his secret love for books of any kind? In either case, he knows that she is more observant than anyone believes her to be, and he wonders exactly what Ginny Weasley sees in him that keeps her coming back when everyone else has deserted him.

* * *

Ginny wanders around the streets of Hogsmeade alone on Saturday morning as she shops for Christmas gifts. She tries to save money for the sleeping draught that she knows she so desperately needs, but she can't bring herself to skimp on gifts in order to do it. She enjoys the faces that her loved ones make when they open her gifts, and she isn't willing to sacrifice that – not even for her own health's sake.

When she passes by Quality Quidditch Supplies, she pauses. She moves close and peers in the window, eyeing all of the latest gear. Something catches her eye, and she goes inside the store to have a better look at it. It has been several months since she was last inside this store, and it feels strangely like coming home when she smells the broomstick polish.

She squats down so she is at eye level with the shelf she's looking at, and she watches a tiny Quidditch player on his broom. It is only a model; a child's toy, but it is still fascinating to watch. The little man hops on and off of his broom, and manages to fly several feet in the air before he has to land again.

For some reason, the toy makes her think of Draco, and she is strongly tempted to buy it for him. She frowns at herself for this thought; he has made it very clear to her that he holds no interest in her whatsoever, and that he neither wants nor needs friends. This makes her frown deepen even more. Her frown quickly turns to a smile when she picks the toy up and the little man angrily voices his protests. She can't wait to see what he'll do when he's dropped into the gift box and shopping bag.

It is Monday evening, and Christmas Eve, before she sneaks up the stairs to his tower. She bites her bottom lip to keep her giddy laughter from bubbling up and out; she has come to think of him as one in a fairy tale – enchanted so he can never leave the tower. She stops in front of his door and gingerly places the brightly wrapped present in front of his door. She turns and heads quickly towards the stair, but before she can reach it, his door swings open. With her back still turned to him, she freezes mid-step and prays that the place where she is standing is too shadowy for him to see her.

"Weasley," he murmurs. She turns back around to face him, trying not to look _too_ guilty. He bends over and picks up the package, turning it over in surprise. She holds a hand out.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," she says, shaking her head. He frowns at her and looks down at the box.

"Why not?"

"He'll be livid when you open the box," she explains. Draco's eyebrows shoot up as he looks at her.

"_He,_ did you say?"

She nods, and then says, "Happy Christmas, Malfoy." She turns to leave, but his voice stops her.

"Why did you buy me a gift?"

"I thought of you when I saw it," she says reasonably. "And I thought you might like it."

"But I don't have anything for you," he says, as though she isn't making any sense. She folds her arms over her chest, struggling to look annoyed, even though she is really only cold, standing in the drafty tower.

"So? Sometimes people just give other people gifts because they like to do it." He tilts his head to one side and studies her for a moment. Then he surprises her, and steps away from his door, motioning her inside. She scurries past him before he can change his mind, and heads straight towards the fire that is blazing in the small fireplace. She holds her hands out and is content when the warmth seeps into her pores.

He sits down on the edge of his bed and stares down at the brightly wrapped box in his lap. When she doesn't hear paper being torn, she turns to face him. "Aren't you going to open it?"

"It isn't Christmas yet," he points out softly. She wonders if he is hesitant about opening it because he fears it will be his only gift, or if he will be insulted by what she's gotten him.

"Didn't you ever get to open one gift on Christmas Eve?" she asks, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her elbows resting on her knees. He looks up at her and shakes his head mutely. "Well, you don't _have_ to open it tonight. But you can, if you want," she adds quickly.

He doesn't say anything as he gently tugs at the red ribbon on top of the box, and she waits with breathless anticipation as he slowly unwraps his gift. As soon as he lifts the lid, she can hear the little man shouting and cursing, and before she has time to savor the shocked look on Malfoy's face, the man and his broom rise into the air and fly up to the mantle.

She struggles to contain her laughter as Malfoy watches the little man, dumbstruck. After a moment, it is too much to handle, and she bursts into fits of giggling. Malfoy stares at her, and then he does something that surprises her.

He _laughs._

It is not a shallow, forced laugh, like she is so used to hearing from everyone these days; it is a genuine laugh, and she decides right away that she likes it very much. They laugh until they can barely breathe, and then they laugh some more. The little man shakes his fist at them, and they burst into renewed laughter. It has been a while since she's laughed like this – long and hard and to the point of tears. It feels good, and she never wants it to end.

When Malfoy finally catches his breath, he turns sparkling eyes to her. For a moment, her heart speeds up, and she realizes that she has never seen him this happy in all of the years that she's known him.

"You thought of me when you saw _that?_"

She shrugs helplessly and smiles broadly at him. "Don't expect me to explain the inner workings of my mind. They are an enigma."

"Truly," he agrees, nodding. He shoots a grin at her, and then turns his eyes back to the tiny figure winding lazy circles in the air. He is quiet for so long that she begins to think that it's time to leave, and she starts to clamber to her feet. He turns back to her and his smile fades. "Leaving?"

"I thought you might want me to," she admits, brushing her jeans off.

"Right." He doesn't say anything, but Ginny can feel the weight of his silence, and is startled by it. He _doesn't_ want her to leave, but he doesn't want to say the words to make her stay, either.

"Hungry?"

"You haven't eaten?" he asks, sounding mildly surprised. She shakes her head.

"Have you?"

"No. I expect the house elves are particularly busy tonight, preparing for tomorrow's dinner." She frowns at this.

"Come on." She motions for him to follow her as she heads toward his door, and he rises from the bed, although he doesn't move any further than that.

"What? Where?" She stops at his door and puts her hands on her hips.

"It's a surprise – another gift from me to you." At this, he takes a tentative step forward.

"A gift? Why can't you just bring it to me here?"

"Frankly, I'm a little tired of climbing your stairs," she says, turning and heading out of the room. He is left with little choice but to follow her, which he does, albeit with a definite air of apprehension. When she gets to the bottom of the stairwell, he stops.

"I can't go through the hallways," he says vehemently. "I might be seen and recognized."

"You came to the library for our first tutoring session," she points out, wagging her finger at him. "Quit being such a chicken, and come out here, already." She gestures up and down the empty corridor. "No one is out here."

He narrows his eyes at her in suspicion. "Are you trying to trick me? Is this another one of Potter's grand schemes to get back at-"

"Harry is _gone_, Malfoy," Ginny snaps impatiently. "He went to my house with my brother, remember? I told you that, remember?" He thinks about this for a moment, and gradually the suspicion fades from his expression.

"Right. What about the other students, then? Where are all of they, that you're not worried about them seeing me?"

"I don't know," she admits, starting down the hallway. At first he walks behind her, but after turning down another hallway, he catches up to her and walks by her side. "If anyone other than the teachers see you, they'll just think you're a ghost anyway."

He gives her a sideways look. "What makes you so sure?"

"No one in their right mind would believe that if you were alive that you'd walk next to me. You'd _have_ to be a ghost and haunting me – otherwise they'd never believe it was you."

He nods and seems to accept this, and they walk in silence for a while. He startles her when he speaks again. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she asks, stopping and turning to face him. He meets her eyes with his own.

"For everything I've ever done to you."

"Oh, that," she says, waving a hand dismissively. She begins walking again. "No, you're not, and you don't need to lie to me just to make me feel better. I'm not sorry for it."

"You're not sorry that I teased you all this time?"

"You wouldn't be you if you hadn't," she says.

"And you're not sorry for hexing me?" At this, her lips curve into a satisfied smile, and he is struck with the thought that she looks very feline when she does this.

"Of course not," she says, glancing at him. "I wouldn't be me if I was sorry for that. That was a _beautiful_ hex, wasn't it?"

"Didn't _feel_ beautiful," he mutters under his breath. She giggles and rolls her eyes.

"You're too close to the situation to appreciate it."

"Damn right," he agrees.

"Everyone else seemed to enjoy it," she says, tickling the pear. He watches with interest as she takes him down to the kitchens, and is amazed when they are greeted with enthusiasm by the house elves.

"How did you learn how to get here like that?" he asks, amazed. She shrugs.

"It helps to have the two biggest troublemakers in the history of Hogwarts as brothers," she explains, sitting down at a small table the house elves have produced for them. He sits down as well, and watches the tiny creatures scurrying about, preparing trays and trays of food for them.

"Do you come down here often? They seem to know what you like," he observes, as a house elf puts a plate full of goodies in front of her. Her cheeks turn slightly pink, and she smiles.

"I come down here a fair bit." Both ends of the conversation are halted as they eat, and Ginny feels more relaxed than she has in weeks. She wonders if Malfoy is comfortable around her, and decides that he _must_ be, otherwise he wouldn't eat the way he's eating – as though he were a man starved.

She watches in amazement and does her best not to stare as he wolfs down two full plates of food, and then half of a chocolate cake by himself. She is used to seeing boys eat a lot, since her brothers have always had voracious appetites, but she finds that seeing someone so dignified eat this way is unsettling.

She finds that she picks at her own food, only eating the meat and bread that the elves have brought her. The bread is her favorite and has always been; ever since she was a small girl, bread has been her favorite thing to eat. She especially loves it when it's warm just out of the oven and almost melts in her mouth. Her mother still chides her to this day when she fills up on bread, but Ginny can't help it. It's a habit she can't – and doesn't _want_ to- break.

She is unaware that he has stopped eating and that his attention is focused on her. He watches as she breaks the roll she has in half, and he wonders at the dreamy smile that flickers across her face as she watches the steam rise. He thinks that he is learning about Little Ginny Weasley, whether she wants him to or not.

He sits back in his chair, his hunger fully sated for the first time in many months. He has always been too preoccupied to eat – always convincing himself that his body can run more efficiently on less fuel. He tells himself this so that in case he's ever alone again and forced to go hungry that it won't drive him insane with want.

Unwillingly he lets his mind drift back to that week after he'd killed his father; the week he'd spent alone out in the cold, sleeping beneath trees and enduring hunger pains so bad that they made him pass out. He hadn't thought that anyone would believe what had happened, and so he'd stayed hidden. He'd hidden until the hunger was too much to bear, and he'd barely made it into Dumbledore's office before he passed out again.

When he'd come to, he was in the tower he now calls his room. Dumbledore was there, and he explained to Draco that he would allow him to stay on at Hogwarts as long as he needed to. The words began pouring out of his mouth unbidden then, so overwhelmed with the need to confess that he was. Dumbledore had listened patiently, and repeated over and over that Draco was not guilty of any crimes.

In the end, Draco had agreed to stay, as long as Dumbledore didn't make him circulate among the students. Dumbledore had frowned on this, and had insisted that Draco needed to attend classes in order to facilitate learning. Draco was given an invisibility cloak, and began attending classes in that capacity.

The house elves always brought his meals to him, for which he was grateful. At the Manor, he'd barely been aware of their presence; at Hogwarts, he was indebted to them.

He is snapped back to the present when she clears her throat, and he struggles not to smile at her. She has been eating strawberries while he's been lost in thought, and she has whipped cream on the side of her mouth. He gestures to the side of his own mouth to let her know, but she just stares at him. When he realizes that she doesn't understand his gesturing, he reaches out and swipes the confection away with the tip of his finger. At her startled look, he holds the offending finger up to show her. She relaxes visibly, and he gives in and grins at her. A slow smile spreads across her face, and she giggles.

"Sorry. I've always been a messy eater."

"With a sweet tooth to rival mine," he adds. Her smile widens.

"Are you finished eating?" she asks eagerly. He nods, and she stands up and holds her hand out to him. He looks at it apprehensively, and she rolls her eyes impatiently at him. "I've got another gift for you." His apprehension dissipates immediately, and he slips his hand into hers. He tries to ignore the tingling that her warmth creates in his palm, and follows her out of the kitchens, and out of the great oak doors of Hogwarts.

She leads him around the grounds until he realizes where they're going – the Quidditch Pitch. Then he realizes that even though it's snowing and they have no coats to speak of, he is not cold. She does not seem to be, either. _Clever girl,_ he thinks. _She's obviously planned this whole evening._

She leads him beneath the stands, where she lets go of his hand and digs beneath a blanket that's lying on the ground. When she turns to face him, she's holding out a broom. He stares at it as if it's a dangerous creature that might swallow him whole.

"Take it," she commands. He obeys, and the moment he grasps the handle, he feels as though he's come home. He watches as she mounts her broom, and he does the same with his automatically. She kicks off, and she flies away. Never one to be outflown, Draco pushes off the ground hard with his feet, and moments later he is soaring high in the air.

He never thought he'd feel this free again, and he owes it all to her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

He notices immediately when the warming charm wears off, and he descends to the ground, where he dismounts his broom. She is already waiting for him, her arms wrapped around herself, and her teeth chattering. He watches with a somewhat heavy heart as she takes the brooms and hides them under the blanket again, and suddenly he is struck with a thought.

She is the kindest person he's ever met.

His chest fills with fury at the people who surround her on a daily basis and yet have no appreciation for her. He frowns as he thinks of Potter, who had her adulation for almost three whole years, and never once looked her way. The frown deepens as he thinks of all the times that _he's_ been the source of her pain, and yet somehow she has been able to look past all of that and become something that he never thought she'd be.

_His friend._

She turns and catches him frowning at her, and he realizes too late as she turns away that she thinks it is directed at her. He takes off through the ankle-deep snow, jogging until he catches up to her, and reaches a hand out to touch her shoulder. She stops and turns to give him a questioning look.

"Thank you." Such simple words, but he has to force them past his lips. When she gives him a tight-lipped smile, he realizes why he's never been able to say the words properly. He's never meant them before, and no one that he's ever said them to has believed him. He moves in front of her and places a hand on each of her shoulders, looking her square in the eyes. He does not miss the way that her lips part slightly or the widening of her eyes. "Thank you," he says again, this time feeling it as he says it.

She nods quickly, understanding now. She knows that he means it, and that satisfies him. Without thinking too much about why he wants to do it so badly, he wraps his arm around her shoulder and guides her towards the school. He tells himself silently that he is only doing it to help keep her warm and share body heat, but he knows that that is not totally truthful.

He's wanted to touch her like this for quite some time, now.

They walk through the doors and as soon as they are in the building, warmth floods over both of them. She is still shivering, though, and he knows that she needs to be near a fire in order to truly be warm. He doesn't want her to go back to her rooms, though; he doesn't want to be alone on Christmas anymore.

"Come back upstairs," he says, before he can stop the words from escaping. "You need to sit by a fire."

"I really should be getting to bed," she protests, glancing toward the stairs that lead away from him. He gives her a curt nod, and walks away without another word. Once inside his room, he changes into his nightclothes – a simple t-shirt and flannel pyjama pants. He stokes the fire and sits cross-legged in front of it, staring at the flames. They remind him of her hair – brilliant streaks of orange and red, with golden highlights here and there. He is so absorbed in identifying every shade that the knock at his door startles him. He jumps up from his place on the floor; it can only be her.

He opens the door quickly, blinking in surprise at Ginny. Her hair is pulled back into loose pigtails and she is wearing a baggy set of worn flannel pyjamas. His eyes drift down to the two steaming mugs in her hand, and a small plastic bag that dangles from her wrist. She gives him a sheepish smile.

"I didn't know if you liked marshmallows in your chocolate or not, so I brought them separately in a bag." He steps aside and allows her in.

"No, I don't take marshmallows in my chocolate," he confirms. "I'm somewhat of a purist." He realizes as soon as the words are out that they sound bad, and he grimaces. He waits for her to chastise him or make some cutting remark, but instead, she smiles. He wonders why he's never noticed before that she has a dimple in her left cheek.

"I had my suspicions." She hands him a mug, and he thanks her quietly before sitting beside her on the floor in front of the fire.

"I thought you'd gone to bed."

"I was going to, but then I got a craving for cocoa, and I thought that you might need something to warm you up, too."

He nods and sips at the hot liquid as he thinks how lovely the evening has been. She has given him so much tonight without realizing it, and as he sits with her, he thinks about how this is the biggest Christmas he's ever had. He knows that he should just relax and enjoy this time with her, but he can't. The thought that she's going to have to leave soon eats away at him, and it sucks all of the pleasure of her company away.

"Are you all right?"

"Just cold," he lies. She cocks her head at him.

"I hope I haven't overstepped my boundaries by coming back," she offers softly. He turns to look at her, and shakes his head.

"You haven't. I'm glad you came back." She smiles brightly at him, and it makes him feel as though someone has just touched his skin with the flame of a candle. He stares down into his mug and contemplates asking her to stay the night, so he won't be alone. He takes several deep breaths, and she sits patiently, waiting for him to speak. She can tell that he wants to say something to her, and that whatever he's about to say is very important to him.

"I don't want you to leave," he whispers, hating the way his voice shakes as he says it. He closes his eyes and waits for her to take the mickey out of him, but she doesn't.

"Really?" He looks up at the strange note in her voice, and he can tell that she's not upset. She looks mildly surprised… and strangely pleased. He nods. "I'll stay as long as you want me to."

It is his turn to be surprised. "All night?"

"Oh," she breathes, her eyes widening. "I didn't think you meant-"

"I don't mean it that way," he says quickly, shaking his head. "I just meant…" his voice trails off as it strikes him that he doesn't really know _what_ he meant. She looks around his room and frowns.

"But there's only one bed."

"We could share it without touching," he offers. She studies his face carefully, and he gazes back at her nervously.

"Are you sure?" He exhales slowly, relieved that she's going to stay.

"Yes."

"Are you tired now, or do you want to do something else?"

"Like what?"

"Chess?" she suggests. He nods and rises to fetch the board and pieces, and soon they are deadlocked in the middle of the game. She is a much better player than he'd anticipated, and it's one more thing he likes about her. He can tell from her game face that she is fiercely competitive, just as he is. She plays to win.

"I'm sorry I don't have anything to give you for Christmas," he says, after he's packed the game board away and is climbing into bed. She shrugs lightly before she slides beneath the covers next to him. Their bare feet touch, which elicits a giggle from her.

"Your feet are almost as cold as mine." He grins at her before extinguishing the candle, and the only light left in the room is from the fireplace. He is grateful that she's stayed; is grateful for the added warmth in his usually cold bed. He turns his back to her and closes his eyes. "You _can_ give me a gift." He turns onto his back and stares into the darkness where he knows she is.

"I can?"

"I mean, if it wouldn't bother you too much."

"What?" His pulse races; he would do most anything for her at this point. She's made him feel more alive in one night than he's ever felt in the whole of his life, and he wants to repay her for it.

"Would you hold me?" He goes deathly still, and feels his palms begin to sweat. He knows that she isn't asking for touches or kisses or anything else along those lines, and that is what makes him nervous. He knows how to do those things; knows how to grope and feel and touch that way. He has never just lain beside a girl with his arms around her.

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he decides that it's about time that he knew what that felt like. He clears his throat and rolls onto his side, facing her. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she whispers. She rolls onto her side, with her back to his chest, and he drapes an arm around her. She sighs contentedly and snuggles back against him. His nose is buried in her hair, but he doesn't mind it as much as he thinks he probably should. He is pleasantly surprised when her hands come up to rest on his arm, giving a gentle squeeze one time. Before long, he hears her breathing steady, indicating that she's fallen asleep. He strokes the skin of one of her hands with his thumb, only stopping the motion when he falls asleep, too.

When he opens his eyes, she is still there, although sometime during the night, they've manages to move apart. He scoots closer to her and pulls her to him, wanting back the warmth and comfort she provides. She sighs and shifts in her sleep so that she's facing him now, and her breath tickles his nose. He smiles softly at her and the sight of her hair fanned out across the pillow – _his_ pillow.

He knows that it's wrong, but now he feels as though he somehow owns her. She spent the majority of the previous day with him, and now it is Christmas morning, and she has spent the entire night sleeping in his bed. Surely he is justified in feeling a bit possessive of her?

He raises his hand and gently strokes the side of her face with his fingertips, enjoying the way that the motion makes her squirm, even in her sleep. His thumb drifts down and glides lightly across her lips, feeling their smoothness. He wonders what it would feel like to kiss her. He doesn't want to violate her, but an unspeakable ache floods through him. What if she wakes this morning and decides that last night was a mistake on her part? What if she leaves his room, and never comes back? He cannot bear these thoughts, and they weigh heavily on his heart. What if she leaves, and he's never presented with another opportunity like this?

He leans forward and presses his lips lightly to hers – he wants a kiss, but he doesn't want to wake her while he steals one. When he pulls away, he checks to see if she's awake, but her breathing is still steady, and her eyes are still closed. He leans in again and kisses her with more pressure this time, needing a more substantial touch this time. He keeps the contact for as long as he dares, and then pulls away and studies her face one last time before closing his eyes. He doesn't want her to wake up and find him staring at her; he knows that that would be creepy.

The next time he opens his eyes, he realizes that he must have fallen back asleep. The sun is much lower in the sky than it was the first time he'd awoken, and it casts sleepy shadows across his tower room. She is still snuggled up in his arms, and she is still sleeping. He wonders briefly if he should wake her, and then shakes the thought away. The longer she sleeps, the longer she's in his bed, and the longer he's got his arms around her.

He drifts in and out of sleep and wakefulness, and his reality becomes confused with his dreams. Is he _really_ in bed with her, holding her, or is it a part of the dream he's just had where he's kissed her? Or was _that_ real? It seems he can't decide. Perhaps the draught has failed him tonight, and he's having these lucid dreams because of it. At this, his eyes fly open, and he is totally awake.

Neither of them took the draught last night, and yet they both fell asleep almost immediately.

He understands now that that's why she's so exhausted; she hasn't been sleeping well without the draught. What his mind can't seem to process is _why_ she fell asleep so easily – or why _he_ did, for that matter. He wasn't haunted by the night terrors last night, and he didn't even have to take the draught for that. It was her that kept his demons at bay.

This thought pleases him and frightens him immensely at the same time. He likes having her nearby, and he likes holding her even better. She trusts him; he knows that she does, else she wouldn't have stayed the night in his bed and believed him when he said he'd keep his hands off of her. He likes liking her.

He doesn't like the thought that he _needs_ her.

Before he can think more on this new development, she stirs in his arms. He can't contain his grin as she stretches; she reminds him of a cat when she does this. He is hesitant to loosen his arms around her, but when she opens her eyes, he does anyway. She blinks several times, and he supposes that she's trying to remember what's happened. After a minute, she closes her eyes again and gives him a sleepy smile. He thinks that it's the prettiest thing he's ever seen, and it makes his chest swell to know that it's for him.

"What time is it?" she asks, yawning.

"I'm not sure," he admits. "But I think we've been asleep for a long time."

"Is Christmas already over?" she asks, frowning.

"I don't think so," he says uncertainly. She stretches again, pulling away from him slightly. He is instantly cold, and he sighs silently. She rolls onto her back and turns her head on the pillow to look at him.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For my gift." All he can do in response is nod at her, but she seems to accept this. He wonders vaguely how he's going to be able to sleep without her now, but he knows he has to. He watches as she rubs the sleep from her eyes with her fists. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"I am a little hungry," he admits. She seems reluctant to get out of bed, and he is curious as to why. She pulls the downy coverlet back up to her chin and shivers slightly.

"How do you sleep up here? It's _freezing._"

"I'm used to it, I suppose." He wants to offer to hold her again, but is afraid to. She was the one who asked him to do it last night, and he acquiesced; he would feel uncomfortable doing it again, unbidden.

"Aren't you cold?"

"I don't notice it, if I am." The lie rolls off of his tongue so easily. He never noticed the cold before last night, but now he is painfully aware of it.

"Want to get some breakfast with me?" she asks sweetly. "Or lunch, if it's that time?"

"All right," he says, nodding. He sits up and then moves away from the bed, heading towards his dresser to get a fresh change of clothes. She stands and stretches her arms above her head, then plods to the mirror that hangs on the wall to inspect herself. She gasps and he turns to see her hands come up and touch her cheeks.

"I have _freckles!"_ She says it with such surprise that for a moment, he thinks she is serious. When he sees the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, though, he grins at her.

"No! Really?"

"Really," she says, turning to him and nodding. "Look, right there. A whole sea of them."

"You're twisted," he comments, shaking his head. She just shrugs and gives him another smile as she heads toward the door.

"I'm going to go get dressed. I'll be right back." He watches as she exits the tower, the silly grin still plastered to his face. Why is it that she has the ability to make him smile like this, and at the strangest of times? He ponders this while he pulls his clothes on, but he still can't figure it out.

He is tying the laces on his trainers when she returns. She's neatly dressed in a pair of jeans and an emerald green jumper with a giant letter _G_ on it. He smirks at her. "Forget what letter your name started with?"

She blushes slightly before shaking her head and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "My Mum makes us new sweaters every Christmas," she explains. "And I think she puts the first letter of our names on them so she remembers which one belongs to who. She's been making them for Harry and Hermione as well, so I don't know how she keeps them straight anymore. Last Christmas, I could swear that she'd given me George's."

"Did you get many gifts?" he asks.

"A fair few. This is from Mum, plus she sent me a cake, since I stayed here and won't get to eat it at home like everyone else. We could share it later, if you like," she offers, glancing down at her feet. "I mean, if you wanted to."

"You want to _share_ one of your gifts?" he asks, incredulous. In his entire life, he can't remember ever sharing anything he's ever gotten.

"There's far too much for me to eat it all, and it would be a shame to let it go bad," she says. "It's too good to let it just rot."

"If you're sure you don't mind," he says, nodding. She looks relieved and smiles brightly at him, and he wonders why it seems so important to her that he share the cake with her. He rises to his feet. "What else did you get?"

"Hermione gave me a book about Claudius Ptolemy," she says it with a wry smile, and he can't help but grin back at her.

"Why would Granger give anyone a _book_ for Christmas?" he teases. She laughs. "You'd think she liked them, or something."

"I made the mistake of showing a teensy bit of interest in astronomy this summer. I guess she has a better memory than I thought."

"Are you actually going to read it, then?"

"If I can ever get past my endless essay work in all of my classes long enough to read for fun."

He doesn't respond to this, although he wants to. He wants to tell her that he will help her with anything she needs help in, but he's afraid that being so open and available to her will frighten her away. She clears her throat, causing him to focus his attention back on her.

"I hope you don't mind, but I –" she steps forward and pulls something from behind her back, holding it out to him. It is a small, rectangular box, and it has no ribbons. It isn't wrapped, either. He looks from it to her. "I got it for you just in case you were okay with me giving you gifts."

He reaches out slowly and takes the box from her, opening it without hesitation. When he pulls the lid off, he finds himself looking at a leather bound book. He removes it from the box and flips through it, noting that all of the pages are blank.

"It's meant to be a journal, but you can use it for other things, if you like." He runs his fingers across the leather once, and then looks back up at her.

"I don't know what to say."

"Thank you would be perfectly acceptable," she says, her eyes sparkling.

"I can't repay you," he says quietly. This causes the sparkle in her eyes to dim somewhat, and she frowns.

"Gifts are just that, Draco. _Gifts._ You don't pay someone back for them." His eyes wander to her face, and he stares at her with a kind of wonder. "What?"

"You just called me Draco," he accuses.

"Yes, well," she says, fidgeting a bit. "Isn't that your name?"

"I've never heard you call me that before."

"I suppose that after last night, I'm allowed to call you by your first name, aren't I?" The teasing glint is back, and his chest expands.

"True enough," he concedes, putting the journal back inside the box and replacing the lid. He sits it on his desk, then turns back to her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she breathes. "Now let's go eat, before I die of hunger."

She leads him down to the kitchens, and this time lets him tickle the pear. He thinks it's funny, and he wants to stand there and do it again, but she pulls him away. They sit in the same seats that they occupied the night before, and they share a grand meal together. The house elves have really outdone themselves this year; there is so much food that they aren't able to finish it all.

"Why don't we take some of it with us?" she suggests. He hides his pleasure at these words; they clearly indicate that she will be around to share the leftovers with him. He nods, and they watch as the house elves prepare a basket of food to take with them. As they're leaving the kitchens, she turns to him.

"Ever wanted to see the inside of Gryffindor Tower?" To say that he is surprised is an understatement, and he nods more eagerly than he wants to. She grabs his hand and begins running in the direction of her house. He doesn't pay attention to his surroundings – he is too focused on the warmth of her hand in his. When they approach the portrait of the Fat Lady, she says, "Fizzing Whizzby." The Fat Lady is barely awake, and she allows them entrance without noticing that Draco is clearly not a Gryffindor.

He follows her through the hole and into the common room, which is decorated in rich, jeweled tones of red and gold. He is warm here, and he realizes why the Gryffindors love their house so much. It is comfortable, and there is a definite air of kinship, even without anyone in the room. She surprises him when she pulls him toward the steps that lead to the girls' dormitories.

"Boys can't get into the girls' rooms," he protests weakly. She ignores him and pulls him up the stairs without incident. "What have you done to your dormitories to allow boys in?"

"We figured a way around the spell a long time ago," she says, shrugging. "Do you really think that Ron and Harry would spend seven years as Hermione's friend and _not_ figure out a way to get up here to see her when they wanted?"

"I suppose not," he admits grudgingly. He looks around the room that she shares with three other girls, and he picks out her bed before she indicates which one it is. It is the messiest one in the room; clothes are strewn around the trunk at the foot of it, and the sheets and coverlet are askew.

"Not as nice as your room," she murmurs, looking around. "But it does the job all right."

"It looks exactly like the room I used to share with –" he stops himself before he can say the names of his deceased friends, and takes a breath. "The room I used to have in the dungeon."

"That's sort of sad," she says. "I always imagined that the rooms in every house were different."

"Where is everyone?"

"I told you, not many people stayed around this time. I think there are only two other Gryffindors staying, and they're both boys, so we probably won't be seeing them. Why, do you want to leave?"

He doesn't know how to explain to her that he feels out of place here. Most Gryffindors are good and kind and brave, which is why they were placed in this house. He knows that he is none of these things, and that he does not belong here.

"Where do you want to go?" she asks.

"Doesn't matter."

"Do you want me to leave you alone now?" He can feel the surprise that he's sure is etched across his face. The last thing he wants is for her to go; he is afraid she will not return.

"No," he says vehemently. He says it with such force, in fact, that she blushes slightly.

"Chess?"

"Maybe later."

"Snowball fight?"

"Too cold."

"Just want to talk, then?"

"Sure." She nods and starts toward the door, but stops halfway there. She shoves the food basket at him and goes to her nightstand. He steps closer to look at the parchments that she's removed from the drawer and placed on her bed while she looks. What he sees makes his heart plummet straight into his stomach.

Her name is written alongside Potter's, surrounded by hundreds of hearts in different sizes. She turns and finds him looking at the parchments, and her face turns crimson.

"It's not what you think," she says hesitantly, not meeting his eyes.

"What do I think it is?" he asks curiously.

"You think it's evidence that I'm in love with Harry," she says softly. "Everyone else thinks that that's what it is."

"Isn't it?"

"No."

"What is it, then?"

"I just keep it so that if people rummage through my drawer, it'll distract them from going any further." He gets the feeling that by _them_ she means someone in particular, and just doesn't want to name that person.

"I see."

"I don't love Harry," she reiterates. He is unwilling to linger on the words; they give him a hope that he knows he shouldn't have.

"I know."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"How?" she looks confused as she puts the papers back into her drawer and closes it.

"You just told me twice." She nods as though this is a satisfactory answer, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He doesn't want her to know that once upon a time, he watched her very closely, and he's seen the way she _used_ to look at Potter, and the way she looks at him _now._

To Draco, the difference is huge.

She tucks something under her arm and is about to exit the room again when he stops her. He puts a hand on her elbow, and she turns her eyes to him. She does not look surprised, but she doesn't look as though she was expecting it, either.

"Would you stay with me again tonight?" His voice is low and it rumbles in his chest as he speaks. She nods mutely. "Do you want to take some clothes with you so you don't have to come back here to get them?"

Instantly he is sorry that he's said the words; they make him sound weak and pathetic. He is not willing to sacrifice a moment of the time he's been granted with her, though, so he bites down on his pride and waits for her answer.

"Do you have a shower up there?" is her only question. He nods, and she goes to her dresser to pick out a change of clothes, and her pyjamas. She gathers a few more things, like toiletries, and stuffs them into an old duffel bag. She removes the item from beneath her arm and sticks it deep inside the bag, and instantly his curiosity is piqued.

They walk back to his tower slowly, taking their time. It's nice to be able to walk through the hallways without fear of being seen, but on the other hand, he is still afraid. It seems that no matter what happens, he just can't shake the fear that has been the one constant in his life since he murdered his father.


	5. Chapter 5

"You _cheated!_" she laughs, throwing the cards in her hand at him. He grins as he shakes his head.

"I didn't," he asserts, picking up the cards. They have been playing various card games ever since they returned to his room, and he finds that she is even better company than he'd originally thought she'd be.

"Oh yeah? Prove it."

"You know I can't!" he protests, gaping at her, amusement written across his features. She is still laughing at him, and her cheeks have rosy spots on them. They have been sitting next to the fire at her insistence; she claims that the only other warm spot in the room is his bed, and she blushes as she says it. Instantly he knows that she means it's only warm when they're _both_ in it, so he says nothing else, and sits by the fire as she bids him to do.

He is crawling around on the floor, gathering the cards up in his hand, when she speaks again. "Happy Christmas, Draco." He stops where he is and turns to look behind him, where she is sitting with her legs tucked beneath her. The fire is behind her, and its warm glow makes her hair look as though it is aflame.

"Happy Christmas, Ginny." He turns back to the task at hand, not waiting to see her reaction to his calling her by her given name for the first time. When he has finished tidying up, he turns back to her.

"Thank you for letting me spend Christmas with you," she murmurs. "I thought I wanted to be alone this year, but I'm so glad I wasn't."

"Thank you for all of my gifts," he says quietly, meeting her gaze. It seems to him that she has returned part of his strength – at least while he's with her, he feels almost normal again.

"I hope you didn't think that the journal was stupid or anything," she says, averting her eyes to look at the flames. Suddenly it dawns on him that he knows what it was that she tucked under her arm downstairs – her own journal. This thought leads him to wonder what she writes about.

"It's not stupid. Do you keep one?" He asks, even though he already knows the answer. Her cheeks flush, but she nods. He wonders at her embarrassment.

"Yes, I do, although people tell me I shouldn't."

"Why not?" She turns to meet his eye.

"Do you remember your second year, when the Chamber of Secrets was opened?"

"Yes," he says, nodding. He knows that she is the one who opened the Chamber; his Father talked about it for weeks afterward.

"And you know that I opened it, right?"

"Yes."

"Did anyone ever tell you how that happened?" He frowns. Who would he know that knew about it, and would actually _tell_ him?

"No, should they have?"

"I just thought that your father might have told you," she murmurs, looking down at her lap. His frown deepens.

"My father? What has he got to do with you opening the Chamber?"

"Remember the day in the bookshop that summer, right before the school year? The one where you and your father ran into me and my family and Harry?"

"Yes." He nods, and feels the heat creeping up his neck. He remembers that day well; remembers the day that the littlest Weasley took up for his enemy. There had been no one there to jump to his own defense, and seeing someone do it for Potter had made his blood boil. It incensed him even more that she was nothing but a little slip of a thing, but still she was not afraid of him.

"That day in the bookshop, your father dropped a book into my cauldron."

"What kind of book?" he asks, his heart speeding up a bit. He isn't entirely sure that he likes where this is going.

"A journal. It didn't belong to him, it belonged to a Muggle-born wizard by the name of Tom Riddle." Draco blinks at this. What would his father have been doing with a Muggle-born's journal?

"And?"

"Don't you know who Tom Riddle is, Draco?"

"No. Why, should I?" The way that she stares at him tells him that she thinks he _should_ know.

"It was Voldemort's human name."

"What?" he asks, dumbstruck. "That can't be true."

"Which part?"

"Voldemort was a _Mudblood?_ That's not true! My father never would have followed him if-" Something in her expression makes his voice die, and he feels lightheaded. "My father knew, didn't he?"

"They all knew," she whispered, nodding. "Every last one of them."

"They knew and they still followed him?" He takes several minutes to allow this to sink in before looking back up at her. "And the journal? What did it say?"

"It was empty."

"I don't understand."

"I didn't at first, either. I started to write in it, thinking that it was an ordinary journal, but when I wrote the first sentence, the ink sort of _absorbed_ into the page, and then Tom answered me back."

"He _what?_"

"He answered me back. Whenever I wrote something, he'd write back to me and talk to me that way. He was very charming, and the more I wrote to him, the more he wrote back. It turns out that the more I wrote to him, the more I fed him, and he was able to control me because of it."

"Where were your friends and Potter when this happened?" he asks, indignant on her behalf. She shrugs.

"They were busy trying to figure out who the heir of Slytherin was."

"Let me guess: they thought it was _Potter_."

"Well, not at first. At first they thought it was you."

"What made them think it wasn't me?" he asks, not at all surprised by this revelation.

"Ron and Harry took some Polyjuice Potion and transformed into Crabbe and Goyle, then you led them into the Slytherin common room and talked to them." His eyes widen to the point of looking cartoonishly large, and he feels his throat constricting.

"I don't remember any of it," he admits, his hands beginning to tremble.

"I wouldn't expect you to," she says, shaking her head. "After that, they wondered if it was Harry."

"Did they ever find out who it was?"

"Tom."

"You almost died, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Potter saved you, didn't he?" _Always the bloody hero,_ he thinks bitterly.

"Yes."

"And after all that, you still keep a journal?"

"It's my closest friend, and I'm not willing to part with it. Besides," she says, struggling not to smile. "It doesn't answer me, so I think it's safe."

He is awed. Her acceptance of everything is incredible, and it makes him wonder what makes her tick. The fact that she doesn't hold his father's actions against him also makes him warm inside. The more that he hears about his father's extracurricular activities, the more he begins to think that maybe what he did wasn't so terrible, after all.

"Is that why you gave me one? Because you think I need a friend?" She looks troubled as he says this, and he tilts his head to one side to examine her as she thinks.

"Everyone needs someone," she says enigmatically. He wants to tell her that he doesn't need the journal to be his friend, because he has her. He doesn't speak the words aloud, though, because he doesn't want to appear _too_ needy, and scare her away. He thinks that he may have already toed that line by asking her to stay again, and he doesn't want to cross it.

"But you have friends, and you keep one," he points out instead. She nods slowly, her expression filled with something that he can't comprehend.

"I can't tell my friends _everything_," she complains.

"Why not?"

"There are some things that they just wouldn't understand." He nods at this. He understands this feeling; the feeling that no matter how close you can get to someone, they will never really know you. "And besides that, there are some things that they just wouldn't want to know."

"Like what?"

She shrugs and a wry smile crosses her face. "Like my relationship with Tom. Keeping my journal, despite the fact that they think it's dangerous. The way I feel about some things."

"Your relationship with Tom?" he asks, his eyebrows raising.

"Don't make it sound like there was anything romantic about it," she chides gently. "There wasn't. I'm sure that he just thought that I was a silly little girl who was fortunate enough to know the people he wanted to get to. I just…" her voice trails off.

"You just what?" he prompts.

"Even if he was only pretending, he still listened to me, and talked to me, and gave me advice. It was nice to believe that someone cared about me for _me_, and not just because I was Harry's best friend's little sister."

He thinks about this for a moment in silence, and then: "I bet that your friends wouldn't understand this."

"What?"

"Us." She cocks her head slightly and gives him an openly curious look.

"How do you mean?"

"Last night, and today," he says, feeling his cheeks burn. "Right now."

"I expect you're right," she concedes finally. She reaches forward and surprises him by covering his hand with her own. When he looks up, the sincerity in her eyes washes over him like sunshine, flooding him with warmth. "They wouldn't understand, but that doesn't mean that we can't be friends."

"Do you consider me your friend?"

"Of course I do," she says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. When she withdraws her hand, he wants to grab it back and never let it go. Instead he folds his fingers together stiffly in his lap. "You know, you're much easier to talk to than I would have ever imagined."

He supposes that this is because they've both been to dark places. He knows the manipulation that Voldemort was capable of, and now he knows that she was subjected to it. He remembers the darkness; the anger and betrayal he felt when he killed his father. He knows that one can't touch something like that and come out unscathed by it.

He wants to reciprocate the sentiment to her that she is easy to talk to, but he finds it difficult. It's not that she's _not_ easy to talk to, it's simply that he finds it difficult to really talk to anyone these days. He's spent so much time in this tower since the war ended that the only person he really feels perfectly comfortable speaking to is himself. He supposes that that's why Dumbledore chose to put his room in the old Astronomy Tower; because he knew that Draco was destined for madness of some sort.

He watches her rise and take some things out of her bag, and head towards the loo. "I'm going to go take a shower."

When she's gone and the door is closed, and he is absolutely certain that she's beneath the spray of the hot water, he moves to her duffel bag and pulls out the journal. The spine is terribly creased and the book looks old, but if she's really had it for any length of time, that's to be expected.

He flips it open to a random page, and begins to read.

_22nd June_

_Harry is here, and he and Ron have been outside playing Quidditch all afternoon with Charlie and the twins. This is the first time that I've never been invited to play, and I think it's because they need some boy-time, if that even exists. Harry looks the same as ever. His green eyes are more beautiful now that the war is over and he has nothing to worry about, and his hair is still dark and wonderfully messy. Those are things that I don't expect will ever change. He is the same boy I used to like, but now I find that I have no feelings toward him that extend past friendship. How have things changed so quickly? I remember a time when I would have given my life just to have him favor me with a glance, and now I could really care less. Everyone here is happy, and I am happy too, I think. Hermione is supposed to be here in a few days, so the boys are trying to get jokes and pranks ready now. I don't know why they bother to hide them from her, she sees them anyway, and she knows about them. She isn't stupid. _

_Mum has been baking nonstop for two whole days, and the entire house smells of cakes and pies. It seems like every time we manage to eat one cake, she makes three more in its place. Dad has been trying to sabotage her for us by hiding the flour and sugar, but she just goes out and buys more and hides it herself. They are more affectionate towards each other these days, too, and it makes all of us feel better seeing them constantly hugging or touching (and even though Ron says it makes him sick to his stomach to see it, I know that he's secretly only jealous of them). We're all jealous of what they have, but we're happy they've managed to hold onto it in the wake of the war._

_I've been thinking more and more about the things that happened during the war, and I can't help but think about him. He looked so empty. Things will not be the same at Hogwarts without Slytherin house, and _definitely_ not without him and his goons. How will the school function without them? Where will the house rivalry and competitive spirit be during Quidditch, or for the house cup at the end of term? I'm not so sure that three houses is good for the school. What if we could rebuild Slytherin house…_

Draco replaces the journal in her bag and goes back to sit in front of the fireplace. He knows that he shouldn't have invaded her privacy like that, but his curiosity was too great to bear. Now that he's had a taste, though, he wants to read more. He knows that she was referring to him, and he has a burning desire to know how much she's mentioned him in that book, even if just in passing.

He smiles to himself. Her writing has a bit of a melodramatic flair, but he likes it. He likes glimpsing her normality and her home life. Seeing it through her eyes is better than seeing it through his own – he knows that he is biased and has been brought up to look down on her. Looking through her eyes and learning through her words gives him the chance to feel the warmth and happiness she experiences, and for that he is grateful. She has given him another gift, even though she doesn't realize it

When she emerges from the loo, she is scrubbed clean and smells of sweet melons. She puts her dirty clothes in her duffel bag and lowers herself onto the floor next to him, penetrating his entire space with her scent, and it makes him lightheaded.

"You know," she begins, pulling a brush through her wet hair. "If you get tired of me and want me to leave, just tell me, and I'll go."

"Why did you spend Christmas with me?" he asks suddenly, turning to look at her. Her brush stops mid-stroke, and her eyes widen slightly.

"Because I wanted to."

"Is it just because you wanted company?"

She looks hurt. "No. I told you that I'd stayed away from home because I _didn't_ want company, remember?"

"Then why?"

"Because I think you're interesting," she says, giving him a watery smile. "Because you can be fun, even if you don't think so. And because no one should be alone on Christmas." She pauses for a moment, waiting for him to respond. When he doesn't, she asks, "Is that a nice way of asking me to leave?"

"No, I don't want you to go."

"I won't, then." They regard each other in silence for a while, and finally he stands up.

"Are you ready for bed? I'm tired now." She nods and he helps her to her feet. She picks up her wand and casts a drying charm on her hair, which he arches an eyebrow at. She begins to turn down the covers on her side of the bed while he turns down the covers on his side.

"I didn't want to get your pillow wet," she explains. "I should have gotten my pillow and a warmer blanket from my room when we were down there, but I didn't think about it. Do you think we'll be warm enough?"

"We'll be fine," he reassures her, nodding. He watches her slide under the covers, and goes to the loo to change into his own pyjamas. When he comes back, the candles are still burning, and she is scribbling in her journal. She looks up and sees him coming toward the bed, and begins to put the book down, but he stops her.

"You don't have to stop on my account," he says quietly. "You don't even have to come to bed when I do – I'm not trying to order you around or control you, or anything."

"It'd feel weird not to go to bed when you do," she admits. "But if you don't mind my writing, I'd like to finish this. It will only take a minute, I promise."

"I don't mind," he says, shaking his head. He climbs into bed and turns his back to her before he pulls the covers up, wondering if she's going to write anything about him, and their two nights together. She finishes writing and puts the lights out, and pulls the covers up to her neck.

After several moments, he can feel her shivering from the cold, and he turns onto his back. "Are you all right?" he whispers into the darkness.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I don't mean to keep you awake."

"I do a fine job of keeping myself awake without your help," he quips softly. He is pleasantly surprised when she giggles.

"You sound like me."

"Do you always have trouble sleeping?"

"Not always, but more often than not."

"Just since the war?"

"Since I was a little girl," she admits. "Since the first time I saw a dragon up close."

"Really?" he knows that he sounds surprised, but he can't help it. The way that she's befriended him and the way that she leads her life has led him to believe that she's fearless.

"I got too close to it, and my hair caught on fire." He tries not to laugh, but he hears her exasperated sigh. "Go ahead and let it out. Everyone else laughs at me." At this, he snorts with laughter.

"I didn't think it was _that_ funny!" she protests. He can almost see her frown, even in the dark, and he hears it in her voice.

"Sorry."

"No problem. Well, now you know one of my deepest, darkest secrets."

"Do I?"

"Not many people know about that one."

"Why not?"

"I was always too embarrassed of it. Only Mum, Dad, Charlie, and Bill know, because they were the only ones there when it happened, and I swore them to secrecy."

"So why did you tell me?" he asks curiously.

"I-" She swallows hard. "I don't know."

"I'm glad you told me," he admits. And he _is_ glad; it's nice to be trusted so well. His chest swells a bit with the pride he feels at knowing something that only her parents and two of her brothers know.

"Me too," she says softly. They lay there for a while, and though she doesn't speak, he can tell that she is still not sleeping.

"Are you having trouble getting to sleep?" he whispers.

"A little."

"Do you need the draught?"

"No."

"We didn't take it last night, either of us."

"We didn't, did we?" She sounds a bit surprised at this. "But we both got to sleep pretty quickly, and we slept for a long time, just like when you take it."

He doesn't know what to tell her – doesn't know what to say, other than that he thinks it is because they were in each other's arms. He is afraid that that will sound stupid to her, so he remains silent.

"We're a right pair, aren't we?" she murmurs. He doesn't need to see her smile to know that it's there; he can hear it in her voice.

"How do you mean?"

"We both wanted to spend Christmas alone, and we wound up spending it together. We even managed to have a good time of it, too. Who would ever think it – you and I, _friends?_"

"I know," he admits, feeling his lips curve into a smile. "But then again, I always _did_ like surprising people, remember?"

"I remember."

He thinks about what he's just said, and he wonders if it came out correctly. To him, it sounds as though he's comfortable with announcing their friendship to the school, and at this point, he's nowhere near comfortable about it. Announcing their friendship would require several steps that he is not prepared to take – letting the other students know that he is alive, talking to them, and sharing her with them.

He is especially not ready to share her yet, and he finds that somewhat disconcerting.

"Goodnight, Draco," she whispers. He can feel her moving on the bed, and his heart thumps loudly in his chest when he feels her move a bit closer. He wishes that she would ask him to hold her again, but he fears that that's hoping for too much.

"Goodnight, Ginny," he whispers back. He rolls back into his previous position, with his back to her. Silence fills the room for a long time, and he is about to move when she beats him to it.

He struggles not to move when she cuddles up to his back. He can feel her pressed against him, and his pulse roars in his ears like the tide. It is so loud that he's almost afraid she can hear it. She is so close that he can feel her breath on the back of his neck.

He considers this interesting development. She hasn't asked him to hold her, but she's instigated contact with him. He knows that she is cold, but he also knows that she'd be a lot warmer if he had his arms around her. Before he can think too much on it, he rolls over to face her and opens his arms.

To his overwhelming delight, she moves into them immediately.

He holds her close and closes his eyes, savoring the feel of her. It's a strange sort of familiarity that washes over him as they lie like this. It feels like a lover's embrace, though he laughs silently at that thought. They are the farthest thing from lovers that he could possibly imagine.

Almost immediately he hears her breathing steady, and knows that she's fallen asleep. He is comforted by this, and he falls asleep, too.

When Ginny opens her eyes, she is disappointed to find that Draco is not in the bed with her. She sits up and rubs her eyes, and that is when she hears the water running in the bathroom. She hurries out of bed and dresses before he can finish his shower, and then stokes the fire.

She brushes her wild hair and pulls it up into a loose ponytail just as he exits the bathroom. She turns and feels her eyes widen; he is wearing nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. He doesn't seem to notice her, though, and heads to his dresser to pick out his clothes for the day. She takes in his dripping hair, and is a little surprised to see that when it's wet, it reaches just past his shoulders. She wonders if he's let it grow out on purpose, or if he just hasn't bothered having it cut.

He is skinnier than she remembers ever seeing him. She smirks to herself as she thinks about the way he's eaten the last two days. If he keeps eating like that, she knows that he won't be so bony for very long. She loses herself in this thought, and only comes to her senses when she realizes that he's about to drop his towel to begin dressing. She sees the top of his bum before she clears her throat.

"Hey," she says, trying to hide her amusement. He whirls around and clutches the towel to himself. She giggles. "I'm awake."

"Sorry," he says. He is mortified. He should have checked to see if she was still sleeping, but he forgot for a moment that she was still there. "I'm sorry." He takes off running into the bathroom and slams the door, and she bursts into raucous laughter. When he emerges, she has moved to the bed and is lying face down. He can see her body shaking, and pushes down his embarrassment long enough to sit beside her.

"Are you all right?" he asks, worried that he has scarred her for life, or something equally as devastating.

"No," she mumbles. He frowns, and then it dawns on him. _She's still laughing._ Slowly a smile spreads across his face, and he starts chuckling, too. At this, her laughter is released and it fills the room. For the second time, they share a laugh so hard that they are crying by the time they are finished.

"Better now?" he asks, grinning.

She sits up and brushes the loose strands of hair away from her face. Her cheeks are rosy and her face is flushed, and he thinks that she is beautiful this way. "I _hope_ you're going to tell me that you just forgot that I was here."

"You mean you didn't _enjoy_ my little strip tease?" he gasps, feigning astonishment. She giggles.

"It's not that you're not attractive, or anything," she begins, holding her hands up in mock surrender. He arches an eyebrow, his heart fluttering at the compliment.

"But?"

"Exactly!" she laughs. His mouth drops open, and he laughs, too.

"Wicked," he says, shaking his head. Her dimple is back, and he tries his best not to stare at it.

"Don't I know it."

"Wench," he mutters good-naturedly, turning his back to her. He has his socks in his hand and is about to bend over to put them on when she surprises him and loops her arms around his neck in a hug. She squeezes gently.

"We really should do this more often," she says, half-laughing while she speaks. He reaches his empty hand up and touches one of her arms, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"We will," he says decisively. He is somewhat startled when he feels her rest her chin on his shoulder.

"Are you tired of me yet?"

"Not remotely."

"What shall we do today, then?"

"Do you have something already in mind?" he asks, feeling lost when she pulls away from him and reclines on the pillow she uses instead. She folds her arms behind her head and stares up at the ceiling.

"Not really. It's strange," she begins, wearing a puzzled look. "When I'm downstairs around everyone else, I'm always looking for excuses to get away and get out of the tower. Up here with you, I feel as though I could stay here all day and never tire of it. Why do you suppose that is?" she asks, turning to look at him.

He shrugs, though her words make him ache. The longer she stays with him, the more he grows attached to her. He knows that this is foolish and will end badly, but he can't stop himself. He has just under two weeks before the start of the new term, and he wants her with him for every possible moment of their break. He knows that when her housemates return, he will lose her to them, and that thought makes his blood run cold.

"I don't know," he says finally, pulling his socks on, and then turning to her. He decides to be daring this morning, and so he takes a deep breath as he reclines and uses the area just above her knees as his pillow. She doesn't seem surprised or upset by this in the least, and he wonders why even as he thanks whatever deities exist for it. "Maybe it's because your friends are all goody-goodies, and you're attracted to bad boys."

She snorts with laughter. "I expect you're right," she says, sighing melodramatically. He grins at her. "But you know, I realized something this morning."

"Don't tell me that you finally noticed how much wittier I am than all of those prats you live with," he says, waggling his eyebrows. She giggles again, and it fills him with light. He realizes that he will do anything to make her laugh and smile like that.

"Well, that too. No, I was just going to say that I've talked more to you in the last week than I've spoken to anyone else in the last month."

"I know," he says gravely. "I can't get you to shut up." She gasps, then removes the pillow from beneath her head and chucks it at him. He laughs and staves off her next attack with his hands.

"Pillock," she says, poking her tongue out at him. He wonders at the ease with which they interact this morning – is it because of their talk last night? Could it be due to spending the last two nights in each other's arms? He can't put his finger on the exact moment that brought them to this point, but he is thankful for it nonetheless.

"But you like me that way," he says, sitting up.

"Unfortunately enough for me, I do," she admits, smiling. She sits up as well and pulls her knees up to her chest.

"So you just want to stay up here all day, with me?"

"Can you think of anything better to do? And so help me, if you say tickle the pear again, I _will_ have to hex you again."

He smiles at this. "What about eating?"

"The house elves can bring us food, can't they?"

"They always have before," he says, nodding.

"Then by all means, Master Malfoy," she says, bowing to him. "Ring for our breakfast trays!"

"You would have made an excellent aristocrat," he mumbles, grinning to himself as he rises to summon the house elves. "Ordering people around the way you do."

"I beg your pardon!" she protests. "I said _please_!" She watches as he tugs the small gilt rope that hangs beside the fireplace.

"Merely a formality," he teases. He has to duck to miss the pillow that subsequently flies across the room, aimed very accurately at his head. When the house elf shows up, he requests breakfast for the both of them. "And while you're at it, just bring our lunch and dinner up at the adequate times, as well."

Her brain is muddled beyond belief as she hears this. The old Malfoy is back, whether he knows it or not – he's just improved on what he used to be. Where there used to be only anger and contempt, now there is also kindness and compassion. She can tell by the way he treats the house elf – not as his inferior, but as someone who is doing him a favor. The thought makes a silly smile appear on her face.

"What?" he asks, still grinning at her. She pats the empty place on the bed beside her, and he sits down where she indicates.

"We're having breakfast in bed," she says happily. He laughs at her and shakes his head.

"Breakfast in bed is typically taken while you're still in bedclothes and beneath the covers." She frowns at this.

"I'm not going to get back into my pyjamas, but we can get back under the covers." She jumps up and dives beneath the coverlet, giggling as she does so. "I've never had breakfast in bed."

"I used to all the time, during the summers when I was home." He slips under the covers with her.

"What was it like?" she asks curiously. "Did they bring you champagne with breakfast? Did you have a tray that had a magazine thing on the side? When you wanted the tray gone, did you just ring for them to come and take it away?" He laughs at all of her questions, but before he can answer them, the house elves arrive with their food. Ginny lifts the lid from her plate and nearly squeals with delight. The elves have brought her pancakes with bacon and lots of syrup.

"Let me guess," he says, lifting the lid of his own plate. "Your favorite?"

"Of course," she says, taking her first bite of food. Her eyes roll upward and she whimpers. "I would _never_ tell my Mum this, but the house elves' pancakes are so much better than hers!"

"It's hard to outdo the house elves at almost anything," he concedes, beginning to eat. She is silent while she finishes eating, and he finds that he even enjoys silence around her. It is an amiable silence; one with no pressure to speak. When they finish with their meal, the house elves take their trays away. Ginny lays back on the bed and he does the same.

They face each other, and she smiles. "The only bad thing about eating is that is always makes me sleepy."

"I understand," he says, stifling a yawn.

"Shall we take a morning nap?" she suggests.

"All right." She closes her eyes, and he does the same. He is almost asleep when he feels her thread her fingers through his. It startles him, but he does not open his eyes. He is beginning to understand that after going so long without it, they both need the physical contact. In his case, the need for it is so great that he finds it almost painful when they're not touching.

He understands with perfect clarity that they are helping one another heal.


	6. Chapter 6

When he awakes, the first thing that he's aware of is that her fingers are no longer entwined with his. After he realizes this, he feels the coolness of the sheets where her body should be. He sits up quickly and looks around, only to find that she's sitting in front of the fire, her quill moving rapidly across the page of her journal.

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to smooth it down, and the motion catches her attention. She looks up and smiles, and that's all it takes to make his heart leap into his throat.

"You're awake," she says, sticking the quill inside her journal and snapping it shut. She rises from her spot on the floor and moves to sit beside him on the bed.

"How long have you been awake?" he asks, taking in her now-braided hair.

"Not long – maybe a half an hour," she says, shrugging. She looks down at her lap for a moment, and he wonders if something's wrong. Has he done something to her that he is not aware of? Dread pools in his stomach as he begins to wonder if he's managed to somehow touch her inappropriately in his sleep, or if she's finally getting upset about the towel incident that morning – or even if she's upset about sleeping in his tower for the last two nights.

"I wanted to ask you something," she begins hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"You've been really nice to me these last few days, and I can't thank you enough for that." His heart sinks at these words; they sound so much like goodbye that it hurts.

"It's no problem," he says, forcing his voice to remain steady.

"I just… it's just that I…" She shifts in her seat. "I wondered if you might let me stay up here with you for the rest of the holiday break." Her cheeks are red now, and her neck is splotchy with her embarrassment. He is shocked into silence; he had been anticipating goodbye. She glances up at him, and he is struck by how shy she appears. He knows that she is nothing even remotely close to being shy, and so her look amuses him.

"You _want_ to stay around me that long?" he asks carefully.

She nods. "I do."

"Why?"

"I've had so much fun staying up here with you," she admits, looking down at her lap again. She refuses to tell him that she never wants to leave – things here are perfect, and being alone with him has meant everything to her. It feels like paradise in his tower; there is no one to pass judgement on her or tell her what to do the way that everyone else seems to – Draco simply lets her _be_. "And I can't help but notice that when I'm with you, I don't have problems sleeping. At all."

"I wonder why that is," he murmurs thoughtfully. "I haven't had any problems, either."

"I'll understand if you tell me no," she says quickly, shaking her head. "I know that you've been up here alone for a while, so you must be used to it, and I'm a big intrusion on that solitude, but-"

"I'd like it if you stayed," he interrupts, his voice low and soft. Her mouth moves for a few moments, even though no sound comes out.

Finally, she finds her voice. "You would?"

"I enjoy having you here," he admits, meeting her eyes.

"You do?" she breathes.

"Yes."

"Oh." She gives him an embarrassed smile. "Well, should we go back to Gryffindor tower so I can get more clothes?"

"That would probably be a good idea, unless you want to walk around naked." He smirks at her as he says this, and she bites back a smile.

"You mean like _you_ did?"

"Ha ha." His voice is sarcastic, but his smile is genuine. "As if you didn't enjoy it."

She blushes and shakes her head before heading to retrieve her trainers from the floor. Something dawns on him then, and the thought makes his heart race. Perhaps her blush means something more than she lets on. After all, she _has_ let him hold her every night that they've been together, hasn't she? And last night, she was the one to instigate contact. She's held his hand, and she's hugged him.

He turns these things over in his mind, and a funny feeling starts in the pit of his stomach. He knows that he should just stop thinking about them, but he can't, and he doesn't want to. She has already given him hope when he shouldn't have it. He knows that he doesn't deserve even her friendship, so how could he dare to ask for more?

He needs to get closer to her. He needs to break down the barriers he's set up for himself, and find out if there is something more there. The last few days have meant more to him than any of the wealth that he used to possess, and he knows that that's saying something.

She stands up and puts her hands on her hips. "Are you coming with me, or not?"

"Bossy today, aren't we?" he asks, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm bossy _every_ day, remember? It's what I do, and I do it well."

"Agreed." He rises to his feet and follows her out the door and down the stairwell. They are halfway to Gryffindor Tower when she freezes mid-step. "What's wrong?"

She grabs his arm and pulls him behind a statue, and presses a finger to his lips. He remains silent, and a moment later, they watch two fourth-year Ravenclaws walk by. When their footsteps can't be heard any longer, she breathes a sigh of relief. For his part, Draco is too aware of their closeness to be bothered by the other students.

"Sweet Circe, that was close!" she exclaims, leaning forward and dropping her forehead against his shoulder. Instinctively, his arms come up and wrap around her, holding her close. She does not seem to mind this, and stays there for several moments before looking up at him. "Still feeling brave, or should we turn back?"

"We've come too far to turn back now," he says softly. His words have a double entendre, and he wonders if she will catch it. She nods and smiles at him.

"I think you're right." Disappointment rolls over him in waves when she grabs his hand and pulls him out of the small nook. His disappointment ebbs a bit, though, when she retains her tight grip on his hand all the way to Gryffindor Tower.

This time the Fat Lady is awake and alert, and when Ginny and Draco stop in front of her, she purses her lips and frowns at them. "He's not a Gryffindor."

"How can you say that?" Ginny gasps, feigning surprise. "Just look at him! You've seen him a hundred times in the last six years, and now you're pretending not to know his name?"

Draco is highly amused, but has to bite back his smile for the Fat Lady's benefit. She frowns and eyes him severely. Ginny wags her finger at the portrait. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself! Poor Colin will be scarred for life, and all because of _you!_"

The Fat Lady relents and lets them through. Once they have reached Ginny's room and shut the door behind them, Draco turns to stare at her. "You passed me off as _Creevey?_"

"He's the first boy who came to mind with blonde hair," she says apologetically. "Besides, she knows that Colin follows me around sometimes, and I thought it would cause less trouble."

"I wasn't following- wait, Creevey follows you? As in, like a puppy dog?"

"Hopelessly," she laughs, rummaging through her trunk.

"That sounds very stalker-ish to me. You should report him to your head of house." He sits down on her bed, watching her as she works.

"What's she going to do, put him in detention for making eyes at me?" she snorts. Draco's eyebrows shoot up.

"You like him," he accuses. She stops what she is doing and puts her hands on her hips again.

"No, I don't!"

"You _do!_ You _like_ Creevey falling all over you!"

"Draco Malfoy, if you don't take that back, I'll…" her voice trails off as she tries to come up with a suitable threat, and he sniggers at her.

"You'll what?"

She looks triumphant as she answers him. "I'll stay down here in my room instead of with you."

He is up off of the bed and in front of her so quickly that it startles her. He is so close that their noses are almost touching. "Don't threaten me, Princess," he hisses, his eyes narrowing. She blinks in surprise. "I don't take well to threats."

"Fine," she says, her voice steady. She points toward the door. "Get out."

"My pleasure," he says, giving her a look full of disdain before he turns and walks out the door.

He goes back to his tower and sits down heavily on the bed. He has lost his temper, and now she isn't coming back. He can't bear to be here without her now; her loss leaves him room feeling cold and empty. He knows that there will be no sleep for him tonight.

He stands and starts to head toward the fireplace when his eyes fall on it. There on the floor next to her side of the bed (how odd that she should have a side of his bed) is her journal. She is not here now, and it doesn't seem very likely that she will return any time soon, so he does not feel any trepidation in picking it up and opening it.

26 December 

_This has been the best Christmas I can ever remember having – even better than the one when I was thirteen and Mum and Dad finally bought me my own broom. Draco has let me stay in his room with him, and it's been like some sort of dream. We seem to be getting along famously, and he's so much fun to be around. He's intelligent and fun and… well, enough gushing. You get the idea – I like him. A lot. _

_I don't know if it's healthy for me to get this attached after such a short time, but so few things make me truly happy anymore that maybe I should just let it happen. I feel so safe when I'm in his arms at night. It's odd, to think that he can be so gentle, but he is. The only thing that I wonder about is whether or not he likes it as much as I do. The first night I think he did it just to humor me, but the second night… I don't know. I don't want to get my hopes up, or anything. I know that when the term starts, I won't be able to stay up here with him, and I don't know if he'd even want me to, anyway._

_I had the strangest dream on Christmas Eve, too. I dreamt that while he held me, he kissed me. His lips were soft and warm and my heart was beating so fast that it hurt. I've never had a kiss like that in my entire life, so why should a dream have me so frustrated and frazzled? I feel like my nerves are all jangled and on edge around him now, because I am curious to know what kissing him would feel like. Is this normal for all girls, to be curious about kissing their male friends? Because I have never been curious about anyone else but Harry._

_I kissed Dean Thomas and Michael Corner when I was going out with them, but they were horrible, wet, sloppy kisses that made me just want to wipe my mouth when they stopped. This wasn't an open-mouthed kiss, but it made me glad that I was lying down, because I could feel my knees getting weak. _

_I suppose that I should just forget about it, because I've had dreams about him before, and I know those weren't true. Maybe it's just being so close to him that's doing it. _

He drops the book as though it's burned his hands, and he stares at it there on the floor. She was half-awake when he kissed her, and she thought it to be a dream. She isn't upset, like he thought she'd be; she seems excited in her journal. He closes his eyes and behind them he can almost see her face flushing with pleasure as she writes about it.

And she's had dreams about him before! He lets his mind wander to a wicked place before snapping back into reality. She likes him, and she is his only friend – and he has just successfully pushed her away. The realization hits him like a ton of bricks, and it weighs so heavily on him that he has to sit down.

He sits at his desk, and his eyes land on the box containing the journal that she gave him. He picks up a quill and dips it in ink, then opens the book and starts to write.

_I think I may be falling in love with Ginny Weasley._

He doesn't know what else to write, but for some reason it feels good to write those words in the book. It feels good to get them out. Keeping them inside would be physically painful, and he knows that they would have eaten away at him.

The only thing he has to do now is win her back and apologize for his behavior. He cringes at the thought of apologizing; he's never been very good at it. Just like saying thank you, he knows that no one has ever believed that he's been sorry for anything. Most of the time, he _wasn't_ sorry, and he knows that that is why. This time, he is truly, devastatingly sorry, and he wants her to know. He needs to prove it to her.

He rises from his chair and leaves the safety of his tower, heading toward the kitchens. He does not take his time and tickle the pear more than once; he is a man on a mission, and he wants to get it done as quickly as possible. After all, the sooner he apologizes to her, the sooner he'll have her back.

He manages to convince the house elves that he needs certain items for the friend he's been coming down there with, saying that she is sick and he's taking her food to eat while he visits with her. He knows that they are questioning this logic and wondering why his friend isn't in the infirmary, but they live to serve and give him everything he asks of them. He makes the trek back to Gryffindor Tower with mingled anticipation and fear. When he reaches the Fat Lady, he gives her the password. Either she is not paying attention or she remembers him being there less than an hour ago, because she lets him in without incident.

He climbs the stairs to her room, his anxiety growing with every step. His feet feel leaden as he wonders if she will accept his apology or not. He wonders if this is how she felt coming to his tower all those times, and if it is, how she made it through. He reaches her door sooner than he thought he would, and he knocks lightly.

"Who is it?" her voice is muffled, but he can hear her surprise.

"It's me," he calls back. For an excruciating minute, he thinks that she is just going to ignore him and let him stand alone in the corridor. Then he hears her turning the knob, and she opens the door, pulling him inside.

"Are you _mad?_" she asks angrily. "What in the bloody hell are you trying to do? Someone could have seen you!"

"As opposed to the other times I've left my room?" he snaps back.

"But you've never come in here alone!" she protests.

"Well, now I have."

"How did you get in here, anyway?" she asks curiously.

"I'm Creevey, remember?" He shrugs. She shakes her head.

"Should have known that one was going to backfire."

"Look, I came here because I wanted to say something to you."

"Well, go ahead," she sighs. He frowns at her.

"Don't tell me what to do, Ginny."

"If you'd just do it, I wouldn't _have_ to." At this, a grin spreads across his face. He remembers this; it feels familiar. The smile that tugs at her lips tells him that she's already forgiven him, but he still needs to tell her.

"Alright, bossy."

"Prat."

"Weasel."

"Ferret."

"Do you want me to tell you or not?"

"Go on," she says, gesturing grandiosely.

"I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry I snapped the way I did," he says hesitantly. "I had no right to act that way. I know that you were only teasing me – I don't know why I took it so seriously."

"It's fine," she says softly, waving her hand. "You don't have to apologize to me. Everyone loses their temper sometimes."

"I brought a peace offering," he says. She eyes the basket with interest.

"What's in it?"

"Dinner."

"Oh," she says, smiling. He fingers the handle of the basket nervously, knowing that the worst part is next. He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

"Will you still stay with me?"

"Of course I will, you twit," she says, an incredulous smile on her face. "I would have hunted you down later, like it or not. You told me you wanted me to stay, and I'm not that easy to get rid of. I'm like doxies; I always come back."

He laughs at this. It is nearly impossible for him to be ill-tempered around her. She brings light and laughter with her everywhere she moves.

"Now, about dinner," she says, standing.

"In the tower?" he suggests. She picks up the bag of clothes that she's finished packing, and links her arm with the one he proffers to her.

"I thought you'd never ask."

His steps are light as they make their way back to his room, and he feels almost giddy. As soon as they are inside his room, she puts her bag down next to her side of the bed, and he spreads a blanket on the floor. She watches with growing curiosity as he begins to place the food on the blanket.

"What's this?"

"A picnic," he says, hoping that she won't think that it's stupid. For the finishing touch, he pulls a long, tapered candle from the basket and sits it in the middle of the blanket before lighting it.

"I'm impressed," she says, her eyes a bit wider than usual. "What's the occasion?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you knew how sorry I was." She sits down across from him, and smiles.

"We should fight more often. I like this making up thing."

"Yes, but I don't like the fighting part." She agrees, and they eat. She is surprised at all of the food he's amassed, and she comments on it.

"You're full of surprises," she says, relishing a mouthful of pie. He chuckles at the look of rapture on her face.

"As are you, my friend."

When they are finished eating, he clears the things away, and she folds the blanket up. She gives him a sideways glance and smiles to herself. He knows that he is not meant to see the smile, but he does.

"What?" he asks with a half-smile of his own.

She shakes her head. "Nothing."

"Come on, tell me."

"Well, that was rather _romantic_, wasn't it?" Her cheeks turn scarlet as she speaks, and she doesn't meet his eyes.

"Did it bother you?" he asks, his voice full of concern.

"No," she says quickly. He opens the door to his closet, and she places the blanket on the shelf. "I know it's silly to even think things like that," she says dismissively. "Thank you for dinner. You really didn't have to, you know."

"I know. I _wanted_ to."

"I'm glad you did. I didn't like the thought of fighting with you – it made my stomach hurt." She puts her hands lightly on her stomach as she speaks, as if to emphasize her words.

Draco is amazed. He remembers stories that his Mother used to tell him when he was young, to help him get to sleep. She wove intricate stories about love, and told him that when it happened to him, he would know what it was, without a doubt. She never told him, though, how fast it could happen. As he watches Ginny comb the braid out of her hair with her fingers, he feels it.

Somehow she has managed to impart some of her light to him.

She turns and catches him looking at her, and instantly she looks concerned. "Are you all right, Draco?"

"I'm fine," he says, nodding. He turns and retrieves his night clothes from the dresser, then goes into the loo to change. When he comes back out, she has already changed into her pyjamas as well. Tonight they are different; she is not wearing the baggy, worn flannels. Tonight she is wearing a very long t-shirt that says _"Quidditch players do it better."_

"Sorry," she says sheepishly, pointing to her shirt. "It used to be Charlie's, and he outgrew it. It's one of my favorite things in the whole world. I hope it's not inappropriate – I can change, if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No," he says, when he finally finds his voice. "It's fine." The shirt _does_ make him uncomfortable, just not in the way that he's sure she meant. His blood is rushing away from his head so quickly that he's starting to feel lightheaded.

He watches as she climbs into bed, and he glimpses the tiniest bit of her lower thigh before she pulls the coverlet up. He closes his eyes and swallows hard; how is he going to be able to sleep next to her, knowing that she is only half-clothed? And what happens if she accidentally brushes up against him, and he touches the bare flesh of her legs? It takes a tremendous effort, but he squashes these thoughts down and climbs into bed next to her. She extinguishes the candle on her side, and he does the same with the one on his night stand.

"Goodnight, Draco."

"Goodnight, Ginny." He wonders if she heard the trembling of his voice, but she doesn't appear to have noticed. If she does, she doesn't say anything or call it to his attention, and he is grateful for that. He already feels weak enough around her without her knowing that he feels that way, too.

She rolls onto her left side and faces away from him. His arms ache to hold her close, and he longs to have the sweet scent of her hair closer than it is. Very hesitantly, he reaches out and touches her back.

"Is something wrong?" she asks, propping herself up on her elbows.

"Nothing is wrong," he says quietly. "I just wondered why you were so far away." The words roll off of his tongue before he has a chance to stop them. She is quiet for a moment.

"Do you want me closer?" His heart threatens to break free of his chest, it is beating so quickly.

"Yes."

"How's this?" she asks, moving around. He can feel her warmth nearby, but it is still not close enough.

"A bit closer." She shifts and suddenly she is right there beside him. The exposed parts of their arms are touching, sending a shiver up his spine.

"Like this?"

He reaches out and pulls her closer. Now she is resting with her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest, with the length of her pressed up against his left side. She sucks in a quick breath that he doesn't miss, and he knows that she must be wondering what's gotten into him. He reaches his right hand over to cover hers.

"Like this," he whispers.

"Draco-"

"Ssh," he says, cutting her off. "We're just going to sleep, is all. I sleep better when I'm holding you." He doesn't know why he's being so open with her; he supposes it is a combination of the protection of darkness and the fatigue that he feels. Either way, he is not worried about her reaction. He has read her journal, and he knows that she is harboring some sort of feelings for him, and that fortifies him.

He raises the hand of the arm that she's lying on and begins to stroke her hair gently. She snuggles closer to him, extending her arm to stretch as far over his chest as she can. She gives him a tight squeeze one time.

"You're the best friend I have right now, do you realize that?" she whispers.

"I can safely say the same of you."

"Draco?"

"Hm?"

"Will you ever go back among the rest of the students?"

"I don't know," he answers honestly. At one point before he started tutoring her, he would have given an emphatic _no_ to anyone who asked him. Now that he has a friend in her, he is not so sure. "Do you think I should?"

"It would be nice to see you between classes and talk to you."

"Wouldn't your brother and your friends get angry if they knew about it?"

"I don't really care if they would or not," she says fiercely. "You're _my_ friend. They don't know you, and they can't dictate who I do or don't speak to."

He grins into the darkness at this. She is every inch the wildcat when she is upset, and he likes to think that she would not hesitate to stand up to her friends when it comes to him.

"Would you still be ashamed to be seen with me?" she whispers. He stops combing his fingers through her hair and sits up to light the candle. When he does, he can see the unshed tears pooling in her eyes.

"No," he denies vehemently. "How can you say that? I'm not ashamed of being your friend."

"Even if Blaise or Millicent see you with me? Or the rest of the school?"

"Not to anyone," he swears. "Who do I have to answer to, if I do walk with you or talk to you in the hallways? Besides, Draco Malfoy does what he bloody well wants to do, regardless of what anyone else thinks. Everyone knows that." She smiles at this.

"You're right," she says, shaking her head. "I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, I know that you don't want to be around the rest of the students yet. Ignore me." She waves her hand dismissively, and he puts the candle out.

He lies back down and she resumes the position she held before, snuggled up against his side and her head on his shoulder.

"Thank you," she says.

"For what?"

"Everything. Dinner. This."

"I should be thanking you, not the other way around," he says, playing with her hair again. He feels her shiver beside him, and it makes him smile stupidly. "It's nice having a friend."

"It is, isn't it?" She yawns, and before long, she is asleep. He is not far behind her, and drifts off minutes later.

Sometime during the night, he awakens to a strange weight on his legs. He tries to move, but he can't. He realizes suddenly that in her sleep, she has thrown her leg across his. He smirks at this, until he realizes that her knee is near his waist. The bare flesh of her leg is within reach, and even though he is still half-asleep, he can't fight the temptation to touch it.

Slowly his hand moves towards her leg. He pauses once when she sighs in her sleep – but when he is sure that she is not going to wake up, he lets his hand trail down further. His fingertips brush against her thigh, and heat floods his body. His veins are flooded with molten lava as he opens his hand and rests his palm on the smooth skin of her thigh.

He runs his hand downward, enjoying the feel of her skin beneath his hand. He wonders what sort of noises she would make if she were awake, and if she'd allow him to do this. She shifts slightly, and he withdraws his hand. His heart is pounding wildly.

He feels her move, and hears her yawn. He feigns sleep and goes still as he hears her gasp. She moves her leg away quickly and sighs. He wishes desperately that he could see her face; he wants to know if she's upset or embarrassed, or something else entirely.

His eyes fly open in the darkness as he feels her fingertips brush against his cheek lightly. The next thing he knows, her thumb is sweeping across his lower lip. He is fighting the urge to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless, and the thought crosses his mind that she may have done this before. He is awash with disappointment when she pulls her hand away, but feels better in the next minute when she snuggles up to him.

He is surprised when he feels her leg drape over him again, and it makes him giddy to know that this time, she's done it on purpose. He sees it as a highly possessive gesture, and wonders if she means it that way. He wants to ask her, but he doesn't want to let her know that he's been awake while it's happened.

He manages to go back to sleep, though now his sleep is fitful. All he can think of is her and wanting to touch her again. He drifts between sleep and wakefulness, and he isn't sure which is which.

Suddenly he is aware of something cool and moist on his forehead. He opens his eyes slowly, and finds that she is sitting beside him on the bed, smiling gently. Whatever is on his forehead is being held there by her.

"Hey," she says softly. "Feeling better?"

"W-what?" he stutters. His throat is too dry to speak more.

"You woke up yesterday with a really high fever." He is shocked at this; he's been asleep for a whole _day?_ And if he was sick, why didn't she go and get Madam Pomfrey? "I went and got you a fever-reducing potion and some other medicines. You'll be good as new in no time."

He is overwhelmed with emotion at the thought that she has been by his side taking care of him this whole time. The only other person in his entire life who's cared for him when he was sick was his Mother. Ginny leaves the cool thing on his head and walks to the fireplace, unaware that his eyes follow her the entire time.

She tugs on the gilt rope to summon the house elves. When one appears, she gives it whispered directions. As soon as it is gone, she moves back to Draco's side. He notices for the first time that she looks tired, and he realizes that she must have foregone sleep in order to tend to him. She gives him a tired smile.

"Are you feeling good enough to sit up?"

He nods at this. More than anything, he is hungry. The hunger of an entire day is gnawing away at his stomach as she fetches extra pillows (where did she get those?) and puts them behind his back to help him sit up. A moment later, two house elves appear in his room, each carrying a tray.

"Which one of you has the soup?" she asks, her voice commanding and authoritative. "Put that tray on his lap." The smaller of the two elves approaches him and places a covered tray on his lap. Before he can disappear, though, Ginny motions him over.

"He's going to need a throat soothing potion. Will you fetch one from Madam Pomfrey for me?" The house elf nods and disappears with a _pop_. She takes the other tray from the remaining elf and thanks him before waving him away. She sits her own tray down on the chair that she's pulled up beside his bed, and lifts the lid on his tray. He can't keep his stomach from growling as the smell of the soup fills his nostrils. Beside the soup is a small plate with two steaming rolls on it, and a tall glass full of iced water. He picks up the spoon and motions for her to sit down and eat, too.

After a while, the first house elf returns and hands Ginny the potion. She thanks him and moves to Draco's side. "You should drink this before you finish eating," she says gently. "It's best if you have food in your stomach when you take it. It'll make your throat feel better."

He does as he's told and swallows the potion. The taste is horrible and the smell is worse, but he chokes it down. Instantly his throat is soothed, and he clears his throat for good measure. She is smiling brightly at him.

"Better?" she asks hopefully. He smiles at her.

"Much. Thanks."

"Good. Now finish eating – you've got to make up for not eating yesterday."

"Why aren't you eating yet?" he asks, gesturing toward her tray. She gives him a mysterious smile.

"It isn't for me," she says, shaking her head. "Well, the sandwich inside is mine, but the rest is for you."

"For me?" He has finished his soup and is eating a roll when he remembers how she enjoyed the roll at dinner that first night together. He picks up the remaining roll and holds it out to her. "Take it."

"I'm not going to take your food."

"There's more food on that tray for me, right?" She nods. "Then you'd better take this, or I won't eat another bite." She exhales and gives him an aggravated look before yanking the roll away from his hand.

"You're a spoilt child, do you know that?" she snaps, even though he sees a smile tugging at her lips.

"It's the only way to be," he says, watching her change the trays out. When the second tray is on his lap, she lifts the lid and watches his grin expand. There is a small chocolate cake and pumpkin pasties, along with a plate of ham sandwiches. He looks up at her in slight surprise. "I thought you said that there was only one sandwich here?"

"No, I said that there was only one for _me_," she says, reaching across the bed and picking one up. He watches as she sinks her teeth into it. "You're the one who needs to rebuild his strength and eat more, not me."

"No, you're the one who needs some sleep," he points out, frowning.

"What? I'm fine! Don't be ridiculous."

"Ginny, don't try to hide it – you _know_ I'm not stupid," he says, his frown deepening. "I know what you look like when you haven't slept, remember?"

She looks down at the sandwich in her hand and sighs. "I know you're not stupid, but really, I'm fine. I promise. I just wanted to be awake in case you needed me, or something. I know, you're a big boy and you can take care of yourself."

"I never said that," he protests quickly. He likes being babied when he's not feeling well, and he knows that she's done a superb job of it. He has to make her feel appreciated, since he's sure that her other friends don't appreciate her. "I'm glad you stayed with me."

"I know I have a tendency to be too motherly when this stuff happens," she says, plucking a napkin from his tray and placing the untouched roll and half-eaten sandwich on it. She wraps up the food and places it on the nightstand that sits beside her side of the bed. "Don't overdo it with the food," she commands, before moving toward her duffel bag.

His heart begins to race and panic floods his system. "Are you leaving me?" She looks up in surprise.

"No! I'm just going to go and take a shower," she explains, holding up her shampoo and bathrobe. He relaxes a bit and reaches for his glass of water. "I didn't take one yesterday, and I don't want to start smelling and make you sick again."

He grins at this. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she goes into the bathroom. "Left myself open for that one, didn't I?"

He lifts the tray off of his lap and puts it on the chair that sits next to his bed – the one that she occupied last night. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up slowly, heading to the dresser to get a clean change of clothes. He has managed to pull his pants on when the door opens and Ginny emerges in her bathrobe. She stops in the doorway and stares at him, her eyes drifting down to his naked torso. He feels his face warming up from the intensity of her gaze, and then realizes that no one has looked at him like this in a long time.

The last time a girl looked at him this way was when he and Pansy fooled around in fifth year. It feels good, to see Ginny's neck go splotchy and her face turn scarlet. She finally manages to avert her eyes, and with a smirk, Draco wonders what would happen if he went shirtless all day.

Despite these thoughts, he pulls a long-sleeved shirt over his head and turns to watch her. She is still only in her bathrobe, and now she is rummaging through her duffel bag for her clothes. His heart seems to have lodged itself in his throat as she gives him an embarrassed smile before disappearing into the bathroom and closing the door.

It only takes a minute before she comes back into the room, and he does a double-take. She is wearing a pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt. Against the black material, her hair seems even more red than usual. He stares for a moment before he realizes that he's doing it, and he has to force himself to look away.

"You're an exhibitionist," she says, giggling. He arches an eyebrow at her.

"Why do you say that?"

"That's the second time I've caught you half-dressed. I think you like showing off."

He grins wickedly at her. "And if I do?"

"Then I think I need to start wearing blindfolds, or something," she laughs, shaking her head.

"You'd peek," he accuses, his eyes twinkling.

"And if I did?" she asks, echoing his words. She giggles at the surprised look on his face. "Oh, come on. You don't _really_ think that you're the only one here who can be wicked, do you?"

"I suppose not," he says, shaking his head. "I think we're spending too much time together. My wickedness is rubbing off on you." She smirks at this.

"I'd love to agree and say that it's because of you, but I can't. I live with Fred and George, remember? There's something to be said for sharing the genes of two such adept pranksters."

He laughs at this, and she moves to stoke the fire. "So tell me about some of the trouble you get into with them." She stands up and gives him a mildly surprised look.

"You want to hear about my family? Really?"

"You don't have to act so surprised," he chastises, sitting on the bed. He pats the side that she sleeps on, and she crosses the room to sit beside him. "I like hearing stories about troublemakers."

"Remind you of yourself?" she teases. He chuckles.

"Maybe."

"Well, where should I start?"

"How about my fifth year? I want to know how they managed to show up Umbridge like they did." At this, she snorts with laughter.

"They're so proud of that," she says, shaking her head. "They _still_ like talking about it. They set off a bunch of enchanted fireworks in the hallway. Whenever Umbridge tried to get rid of them, they would explode and make a huge mess. Unless she tried to _vanish_ them, and then they multiplied by ten!"

"Are they that bad at home, too?"

"_Worse,"_ she laughs. "They keep Mum on her toes, I'll tell you that. And I have to constantly change the locking spells on the door to my room, or else they'll figure it out and get in. Though I expect that if they really wanted to, they could probably get in, anyway."

"It must have been nice growing up with so many siblings," he comments.

"Well, sometimes it was. I mean, I always had someone to teach me how to do things, and I always had someone to get into trouble with. But I wish I would have had a sister, to teach me girly things and stuff. Did you ever wish you had brothers or sisters?"

"I used to wish that I had an older brother," he admits, surprising her a bit. "Sometimes I got bored in the Manor alone."

"Well, let me just tell you that sometimes I wish I were an only child," she says, shaking her head. "Especially when they exclude me from things. When Harry started spending time at our house, they didn't need me anymore. I was so glad when Hermione started coming over, too. I thought that I finally had a girl to talk to – and she _did_ talk to me, most of the time."

"But?"

"But more often than not, she spent her time with Ron and Harry."

"How about now?"

"Now everything is the same. They're closer than ever, if that's possible. Charlie is in Romania with his dragons again, Bill is travelling doing his work for Gringott's, the twins have their own shop, and Percy is as happy as a clam in the Ministry of Magic."

"I never knew that your brothers had such good jobs," he says, mildly impressed.

"What do you mean?"

"One of your brothers works with _dragons?_"

"Yeah, Charlie does."

"Of course, the Ministry job doesn't sound like fun," he comments dryly. She laughs at this.

"Percy and my Dad both work for the Ministry. I expect that that's where Ron will end up, too. At first, anyway. If he decides to be brave and follow Harry, he'll try to be a professional Quidditch player, or an Auror, or something."

"Potter wants to be an Auror? You'd think he'd gotten enough of dark wizards."

"I think it's just something that comes naturally to him," she says, shrugging.

"Like everything else," he mutters, looking away from her. She blinks, and then reaches her hand out to touch his arm. The contact makes his stomach turn somersaults as he turns to look at her.

"Hey," she says softly, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "Just because it's natural doesn't mean that it's always _easy_. Besides, you have natural talents, too."

This piques his interest. "I do?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, are you kidding? Of course you do! You've always made flying look so easy that it makes me sick. And don't forget, you're no slacker when it comes to schoolwork; you easily rival Hermione any day of the week. Your grades are only second to hers, and you've beaten Harry out at that. He only ranks third behind _you_."

This makes Draco feel better, and he nods. "I suppose you're right," he says, smiling gratefully at her. He wants to say that he has something else that Potter doesn't have, and that it's her, but he's not sure of himself yet. He knows that she feels _something_ for him, he's just not sure what the something is.

He notices that her hand is still on his arm, and he looks down at it. She yanks it away as though she's been burnt, and she rises from the bed. "Feeling physically fit?"

"As fit as I'll ever be – why?"

"Then get your bum out of bed, and let's go have some fun!" She heads toward the door, then stops and turns around. "And this time, bring your warmest cloak." He grins at this, understanding that they're going to go fly. He is grateful that it is winter and that it gets dark early in the evenings, otherwise he wouldn't feel quite so comfortable going outside in the open. He watches as she removes her cloak from her duffel bag, and he does a double-take as she puts it on. It is threadbare and looks as though it wouldn't even keep a kneazle warm.

He goes to his closet and pulls out his old cloak, and then clears his throat. She turns and looks at him, and he holds the cloak out. "What?" she asks, reaching for it. "Do you want me to hold it for you while you get your trainers on?"

"I'm giving it to you. To keep," he adds, just in case she thinks he just wants her to hold it. Her hand pauses just above the fabric, and she lifts her eyes to meet his.

"Giving it to me?" she echoes.

"I have another one, so please take it. Consider it a late Christmas gift."

She removes her cloak and drapes it across the back of his desk chair, then takes the one that he's holding out to her. He helps her get it on, then turns back to the closet to get his other cloak. While he's got his back turned to her, she presses her nose to the collar and inhales deeply. The scent of his cologne is strong in the fabric, and it makes her feel weak-kneed and dizzy.

He turns around and sees her standing there with her head tilted to one side and her eyes closed, and he wonders what she's doing. He clears his throat again and her eyes fly open. Her cheeks flush pink, and she heads out of the tower without meeting his eye. He thinks that perhaps he has made her feel ashamed by giving her the cloak.

He follows her down through the castle and out to the pitch, almost jogging to keep up with her. She pulls the brooms out from beneath the blanket where she'd hidden them and hands him one. She kicks off before he can even mount his broom, and he frowns as he pushes off and soars into the air.

For a while he loses track of her. It is dark outside and he doesn't have any special glasses to see in the dark, or even his wand to charm himself. He loves to fly in the dark anyway; he knows the pitch and the air above it better than he knows himself. He flies in lazy circles, taking his time at first, then heading into a spiraling dive towards the ground. He pulls up just before he collides with the earth, and suddenly she's there, hovering just above him.

"That was amazing," she says breathlessly. He hides his pleasure at her words; he knows that he is a skilled flier, but it means something to him to hear it coming from her.

"Thanks," he says, panting. "Where've you been?"

"Just watching you," she admits, looking down at her broom. Suddenly a thought occurs to him, and he lands.

"Hop on." She stares at him for a moment, and then a slow smile appears on her face.

"Really?"

"Absolutely." She doesn't waste any time, and she descends the rest of the way on her broom, then lets it drop as she heads towards him.

"In front of you or behind you?"

"In front." She climbs on, and instantly his arms surround her. His heart is pounding wildly as he kicks off, and she gasps as they rise into the air together. He does some more lazy circles, mostly just to get her used to the feeling of being on the broom with him. When he thinks she is ready, he speeds up. Her hair is whipping behind her, and mostly covers his face. He doesn't complain though; how can he? She is sharing with him one of the things that he loves most in all the world, and he can tell from the way that she's laughing that she loves it, too.

"Ready to try a dive?" he asks, his lips against her ear. He feels her shiver before she answers.

"Yes." Suddenly they are plummeting towards the ground. Exhilaration causes his blood to pump rapidly through his veins like a rushing river. He wraps one arm around her waist and keeps one hand on the broom, bracing both of them. Just before they are about to crash, he pulls up, and they are parallel to the ground. He can feel her shaking with the force of her breathing.

"That was… it was…" her voice trails off as she tries to find the words, and he wonders for a brief moment if he's frightened her. His fears are placated in the following moment, when she lets out a loud whoop. "It was _incredible!_"

"It was, wasn't it?" he asks, grinning.

"Thank you so much for sharing it with me!" she gushes happily. He squeezes her tinight with the arm that's wrapped around her, and puts his lips to her ears again.

"You're welcome." She starts to dismount from the broom, but he holds fast to her. "Where are you going? Don't you want to fly some more?"

"I don't want to wear you out," she says, relaxing into his embrace. "You're still a bit weak from being so sick yesterday, and you need to get your rest."

"Are you saying that you're ready for bed?"

"After some light dinner, yes. I'm very tired, Draco." He understands this, since he knows that she stayed awake during the previous night in order to take care of him. He releases her and gets off of the broom at the same time she does, and watches as she takes both brooms and hides them beneath the blanket again. She turns back to him and reaches for his hand, which he gives her without a second thought. Their hands remain linked all the way back to his tower. Once inside his room, she lets go of his hand and removes her cloak. She folds it neatly and places it on the floor beside her duffel bag.

"Shall we ring for dinner?" she asks, batting her eyelashes. He laughs as he replaces his cloak inside his closet.

"By all means," he says, bowing grandiosely. She tugs on the gilt rope to summon the house elves. Dinner passes with no conversation, because he can tell that she's tired. She can barely keep her eyes open long enough to finish her dinner.

After the house elves have cleared the food items away, she goes into the loo to change into her pyjamas. She doesn't wait for him as she crawls into bed, and strangely enough, he is not upset by this. He knows that he is the reason for her exhaustion, so he doesn't mind that she's retiring a bit early, and he especially doesn't mind because she's in his own bed. She turns onto her right side, facing his empty side of the bed, and closes her eyes.

He changes into his pyjamas quickly, wanting to get to bed so he can feel her next to him. He slips beneath the covers and moves towards her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. She is still awake, but only just. She nestles closer to him and sighs contentedly before falling asleep.

He doesn't mind going to bed any longer. Before her, it was horrible; nightmares haunted him constantly, and he never got a good night's sleep. Since she began sharing his bed, he's not had a nightmare, and he feels more rested than he has in a long time. She is good for him in more ways than one, and he knows it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Draco stays awake for a long time after she has fallen asleep, and simply gazes at her. He wants to memorize everything about her- from her sweet scent down to the very last freckle on her nose.

He knows that she is tired, and her sleep will most likely be a deep one, so he does not hesitate to push his limits tonight. He leans forward and steals a soft kiss, barely touching his lips to hers. He is getting bolder as the time with her continues; he realizes that if she wakes up during one of his interludes that the possibility of losing her is very real.

He disregards his own silent warning to be careful, and catches her lips up in another kiss. He is slower to pull away this time; he finds that the stolen kisses fortify him in a way that he can't explain. He wonders how it would feel if she gave him a kiss while awake.

He touches her cheek lightly with his fingertips, marveling at how soft her skin is. With his thumb, he traces her cheekbone. He is ready to sleep now; two stolen kisses are hardly enough to satisfy him, but he isn't willing to push his limits too far.

He gathers her closer and buries his face in the curtain of her hair, seeking his comfort for the night. As soon as his arms are tightly around her, she shifts and opens her eyes a tiny bit. "Draco, are you still awake?" she whispers.

"Yes, but only just," is his whispered reply. She snuggles closer to him and, to his surprise, presses a tiny kiss to his collarbone.

"You should try to get some sleep," she mumbles, drifting off again. Sleep may have been within his grasp seconds ago, but it is a long way off now. She _kissed_ him! He knows that she was barely awake and that she probably didn't mean it to be anything other than a comforting gesture, but he is trembling from the feather-light touch.

He holds her for a moment longer, and then the urge is too strong. He gently disentangles himself from her and creeps silently to his desk, where his journal is still lying open to the page he's written on. He berates himself silently; he knows that she hasn't seen what he's written, but she _could_ have. He needs to exercise more caution.

He picks up his quill and dips it in the small pot of ink that always sits on his desk. He turns the page, feeling the need to start writing on a fresh page, since the thoughts are fresh in his mind.

_She kissed me tonight. I don't think she meant to do it, but she did. She was asleep and woke up to ask me if I was still awake. I was holding her, and I was trying to get to sleep, and she kissed me. I am too keyed up to sleep now – I can still feel the place where her lips were, and it feels hot. _

_It doesn't make sense to me how or why this is all happening the way it is. I sleep when she's around, and I always feel rested when I wake. She makes me miss some of the things that I used to do – flying being the main thing. She makes me want to play Quidditch again. _

_She flew on my broom with me tonight, which is something that I've never done before. I've never allowed anyone to ride with me, but I can see now that I've been missing a lot by not doing it. I could feel her excitement, which made mine multiply – does that sound stupid? _

_She told me about her family, too. I think that perhaps in another lifetime, one where I hadn't been raised to look down on them, I might have been friends with one or more of her brothers. As things stand, I am simply amazed that _she_ is my friend._

_I don't understand the forces that are at work here. It feels as though sometimes the pull to touch her is too strong for me to resist, and in the next minute, I'm content just to be in the same room with her. _

_I keep thinking about what my parents would say, were they alive for me to talk to. I know that my Father wouldn't approve of her simply because of their lack of wealth, but I think that Mother would have liked her. She has an indomitable spirit, just like Mother did._

_That's not to say that I'm thinking serious thoughts, like marriage and children and ever afters – all I know at this point is that I like being around her. She makes me happy. I don't want her to leave…_

_Gods, that _does_ sound like I'm talking long-term, doesn't it? Maybe my subconscious is trying to tell me something. I have just over a week left to spend with her, and I don't intend to waste a moment of it. Speaking of which, I'm going back to bed now._

He replaces the quill in his desk drawer, and then closes his journal and slips it inside the same drawer as the quill. He rises from his desk and turns to find her smiling at him. "I'm glad you're using it."

"What are you doing awake?" he asks, climbing back into bed. He lays on his back and she snuggles up to his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Instantly his arm is around her, lightly stroking her arm.

"I guess I'm just so used to sleeping beside you that when you're not here, I can't sleep." His heart swells, and emotion floods his body. Who is he trying to fool by believing that he's going to be able to let her go when the time comes?

"I know the feeling," he says, giving her a light squeeze.

"Aren't you tired?" She yawns as she asks this, and it makes him chuckle.

"Apparently not as tired as you are," he teases. He goes still when he feels her hand move up from his chest to touch his face. She touches his cheek once, and then her hand drops back to where it was moments before.

"You should sleep," she chides. "Although I know how those urges to write go sometimes, so I guess I can't say anything about it."

"You sleep," he whispers, his mouth near the top of her head. "And once you're asleep again, I'll be able to sleep, too."

A gentle sigh escapes her as she nods. He resolves to talk to her tomorrow about the way he feels; he can't stand another day of being near to her without being _close_ to her.

When he opens his eyes, the first thing that he is aware of is the fact that she's still next to him. The second thing that he notices is that her hand is smoothing the hair away from his forehead. He turns slightly and looks at her, fully expecting her to withdraw her hand. When she doesn't pull away, he gives her a soft smile. She responds in kind.

"Morning," she says.

"Morning."

"I didn't mean to wake you," she apologizes. She starts to pull her hand away, but his hand shoots up and he grips her wrist lightly.

"Please don't stop," he whispers. Her lips part breathlessly as she keeps her eyes focused on him. Before he can lose his courage, he closes the distance between them and presses his lips gently to hers.

He expects her to pull away as soon as his lips come into contact with hers, but instead she relaxes into the kiss. She exhales softly, and her breath tickles him. After several long moments, he reluctantly pulls away from her, but only far enough away to be able to look at her face.

Her eyes are still closed and her lips are slightly parted, and he notices with no small amount of satisfaction that her chest is heaving as she breathes. When her eyes flutter open, she locks her gaze on him.

"Oh," she breathes. It is only then that he realizes that he is still holding her wrist. Instead of letting it go, though, he brings her arm to his chest.

"You stopped," he accuses, his eyes sparkling. She laughs softly.

"It's your fault. You never let me have my hand back," she points out. He grins at her. He doesn't know how to express the elation he feels; he's kissed her, and she doesn't seem upset. She is smiling that breathtaking smile at him again, and it makes everything else but her seem hazy.

"True," he admits, still holding her wrist. He slides his hand up so he is holding her hand, and he rubs his thumb across the flesh between her thumb and forefinger.

"I am going to be needing that back eventually."

"Not any time soon," he disagrees.

"I will need it back when we get out of bed," she protests.

"Who says we're getting out of bed?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. She laughs again.

"And what would we do in bed all day?"

"I can think of a few things," he says, his voice throaty. She shivers and squeezes his hand gently.

"I can too, but I'd wager that my ideas aren't nearly as perverted as yours are." At this, he chuckles.

"You're probably right."

"Aren't you hungry?" she asks. He lets go of her hand and reaches up to brush some stray hairs away from her face, and her smile fades.

"A little."

"Breakfast in bed?" she suggests. His hand is still brushing the hair away from her face, and the prolonged intimate contact with him is making her tremble.

"Absolutely." His thumb brushes her cheekbone, and she closes her eyes again. He takes advantage of the opportunity to surprise her and touches his lips to hers one more time. This time he is more sure of himself, and he knows that she will not push him away. He touches his tongue to her lips, teasing them apart. When she opens her mouth to him, adrenaline surges through his veins.

He takes his time exploring her mouth, reveling in the feel of her hands on his shoulders as he kisses her. One of his arms remains beneath her, and his other hand is gently cupping her cheek. Over and over he kisses her, touching his tongue to hers. She is starting to get to him; the longer they kiss, the more intense the contact becomes, until their kisses are no longer slow and languid, but fevered and frenzied.

The kisses are not enough anymore, especially not with her lying beside him in his own bed. He knows that if they don't stop soon, he will not be able to exercise much control over his urges. He ends the kiss and holds her a small distance away from him, trying to regain his breath.

When his eyes fall on her face again, the blood rushes away from his head. Her eyes are glazed over and her lips are pink and swollen from his kisses. He can feel his resolve crumbling.

"We'd better stop," he whispers. She nods.

"Right," she breathes, nodding.

"It's not because I don't want to-" he begins.

"I know," she interrupts.

"And you're not angry with me?"

"For what? Kissing me, or stopping?"

"Both."

"I'm not angry," she says, pushing herself into a sitting position. "Do you wish now that you hadn't done it?"

He sits up and reaches for her, pulling her back into him. When her back is pressed against his chest and she is sitting between his legs, he wraps his arms around her. She leans her head back and rests it against his shoulder.

Her neck is exposed to him, and he cannot resist placing a light kiss there. She shivers. "I don't regret doing it," he says, his breath warm against her skin. And he doesn't – he just regrets not doing it sooner. "Are you still hungry?"

"Yes," she says, resting her hand on the arm that he has around her waist. "Do you want to go down to the kitchens and get something to eat?"

"No," he murmurs, nuzzling her neck. The gesture elicits a giggle from her. "I want to stay here and have breakfast in bed with you."

"Oh, I'd already forgotten that we mentioned that," she murmurs, momentarily distracted by the feel of his lips brushing against her neck again. "So which one of us is going to get out of bed and ring for the house elves?"

"Damn, I'd forgotten about that," he grumbles. "Well, it's easily taken care of." He lets go of her and gets out of bed. A small yelp of surprise escapes her when he reaches forward and grabs her hands, effectively pulling her out of bed, too.

"That's not fair!" she protests, laughing. He drags her all the way to the fireplace, where he tugs once on the gilt rope. "I thought you were going to do it!"

"I did do it," he says, raising his eyebrows at her.

"I meant _alone_," she points out, laughing. "I didn't think that you were going to drag me out of bed along with you!"

Before he can aim a witty reply at her, the house elf shows up. "Breakfast, if you please," Draco tells him. Ginny watches as the house elf disappears.

"What _happened_ to you last night? You're in a wonderful mood this morning!"

"I don't know," he admits, steering her back toward the bed. "I suppose I just realized some things."

"Like what?"

He sits down on the bed and pats the empty space in front of him, which she quickly sits down in. Her back is pressed against his chest again, and he snakes his arms around her waist. "Like the fact that we've got an entire week left together, and I don't want to look back on it later and beat myself up for not at least _trying_ to kiss you once."

"I have to admit, this is an unexpected change," she says, leaning back against him. "It makes yesterday seem worlds away, doesn't it?"

"It does," he agrees. "But I like the change."

"Me, too." She feels an uncontrollable honesty welling up inside of her. "I've always wondered what it would feel like to kiss you," she admits.

"You have?"

"Yes."

"But you've always hated me."

"I _disliked_ you immensely; I never _hated_ you. And just because you don't like someone doesn't mean that you can't be curious about things."

The house elf returns with a single tray full of food, and places it on Ginny's lap, at Draco's direction. She lifts the lid, and a laugh escapes her. She half-turns to look at Draco.

"I was standing there the whole time – how did you tell him what to bring without me hearing it?" He doesn't answer her; instead he just presses his lips to hers for a moment. When he pulls away, she is smiling at him. "I think I could get used to this."

He smirks at her before reaching around to pick up a strawberry. He lifts it to her lips, and feeling foolish, she takes a bite of it. Juice trickles down her chin, and she reaches up to wipe it away.

"Messy eater, aren't you?"

"Not when I'm feeding _myself_," she says pointedly. He chuckles and scoots backward, allowing her enough room to move. When she settles down again, she is facing him, with the tray of food between them.

He isn't sure that he likes her being even that far away, but he takes consolation in the fact that he can see her now. "So what are we going to do today?" he asks, taking a bite of the strawberry she's already bitten off of.

"What do you want to do?" she asks, reaching for a piece of toast. "We could fly again, or take a walk on the grounds, or play chess, or go into Hogsmeade, or-"

"Hogsmeade?" he asks, interested. "I haven't been there in months."

"Do you want to go? Oh," she amends quickly. "Nevermind."

"Why?"

"You don't like going out around people, remember?"

"But all of the students are at home for the holidays," he reminds her.

"Except for the ones who live around here, and could see you out and about – and with me, no less." He frowns at this.

"I've already told you, I wouldn't care if we were seen together. And besides, remember what you told me? No one would believe it was even me- they'd think they'd seen a ghost."

"Does that mean you want to go, then?"

"It could be fun," he says, shrugging. "Why not?"

"They have the prototype for the new Firebolt model that's coming out in two months at Quality Quidditch Supplies," she says, licking butter off of her finger. "It doesn't look like much, but Tantalus says that it's much faster than the one that's out now."

"Tantalus?" he asks, mildly surprised. "You're on a first-name basis with the owner?"

"I used to go in there a lot," she says, nodding. "Sometimes he lowers prices for me, too, since I'm such a loyal customer."

"We should make Honeydukes our first stop," he says, rising from the bed. "I haven't had decent chocolate in ages."

"I wish you'd said something about it sooner," she says, handing the breakfast tray to the house elf who's appeared out of nowhere to collect it. "I could have bought you some when I was there this past weekend."

"You can't be expected to know everything about me right away," he says reasonably, choosing some clean clothes from his dresser. "And besides, you gave me enough as it is."

She pulls a clean set of clothes from her duffel bag as he disappears into the bathroom. She withdraws her journal after she has finished dressing, and begins to write as though she is a woman possessed. She gets so caught up in her writing that she doesn't even notice that Draco has finished his shower.

He watches as she writes, and he feels something strange pooling in the pit of his stomach. He loves the way that she sticks her tongue out when she concentrates; the way that she wrinkles up her nose just before she scribbles something out. He clears his throat and she looks up, startled.

"That was fast," she says, taking in his dripping hair. She puts her quill inside the journal to mark her page, and closes it.

"Actually it wasn't," he disagrees, sitting on the edge of the bed to put his socks on. "I was in there for quite a while."

"I guess I tend to lose track of time when I'm writing," she says apologetically. She slips into her trainers and laces them up, watching as he puts his shoes on as well. "Ready?"

"I'm ready if you are," he says. She picks up the cloak he's given her and wraps it around her shoulders. He puts his own cloak on, and follows her down the stairs. She leads him downstairs and out of the castle through the great oak doors, and she's almost to the edge of the Hogwarts grounds by the time he catches up to her.

"Are you _trying_ to run away from me?" he asks, arching an eyebrow.

"What? No! I just thought that you'd be in a hurry to get here, since you haven't been here in a while." He reaches forward and clasps her hand tightly with his. She glances down in surprise.

"Does this make you uncomfortable?"

"Not at all," she says, shaking her head. "But I'm worried about someone from school seeing us."

"Nothing to worry about," he reassures her, though he's not so sure. He knows that he's taking a risk, coming out in public like this, but she's well worth it. Besides, Dumbledore has been trying to encourage him to rejoin other people for ages, hasn't he?

Once they reach the village, she slows her pace, and they stroll along languidly with their fingers meshed together. Draco finds that he's missed being out and about, and he's especially missed the feel of the wind whipping his hair around his face.

When they reach Honeydukes, he coaxes her inside. She doesn't want to go in because she says that she spends far too much money in here, but he convinces her to, anyway. Once inside, he is assaulted by the smell of the rich chocolates that are being made fresh somewhere inside the shop. He purchases the smallest box of chocolates that they sell and places it deep in his pocket, and then they head back out onto the street.

They are both startled when they hear someone calling her name. She glances at him out of the corner of her eye. She's not sure that he's ready to be seen yet, but he looks completely calm. "Do you want to ignore them and just keep going?"

He simply shakes his head.

She turns around and tries to let go of his hand, but he holds fast to her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. She looks around, trying to seek out the person who's called her name. To her chagrin, it's _Hermione_.

"It's Hermione," she breathes through clenched teeth. She watches as Hermione jogs toward them, stopping just a few feet in front of Ginny. Draco still has his back turned to her. "Hey, Hermione. What are you doing here? I thought you were going home."

"I was," Hermione nods. Ginny wonders how long she's been outside, since her nose is red. "But I told your Mum I'd stop by the Burrow for a visit, and then Harry and Ron convinced me to come here with them."

"Harry and Ron are here, too?" Ginny asks. The slightly panicked note in her voice is not lost on Draco, who squeezes her hand once for reassurance.

"Yes, I think they went to look at Quidditch equipment." Hermione says this with an eye roll, and despite the situation, it makes Ginny want to laugh. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Ginny is struck dumb for a moment. Before she has a chance to collect herself, Draco has turned around and is looking a very surprised Hermione directly in the eye.

"I don't believe that introductions are in order, seeing as how we've already met," he says coolly. Ginny knows that he is not being mean, he is simply being disinterested – but one look at Hermione's face tells her that Hermione does not see what she does.

"It can't be," Hermione whispers, her face paling. Draco arches an eyebrow at her, but says nothing more. Hermione turns to give Ginny a questioning look.

"It would take time to explain," Ginny says, shaking her head. "And that's if I even wanted to explain in the first place – which I _don't._"

"I thought-"

"He's not," Ginny says, poking Draco's shoulder with the index finger of her free hand.

"Ouch," he mutters, frowning at her. Hermione's eyes widen as Ginny smiles brilliantly at him.

"As you can tell, he's very much alive. It was nice to see you, Hermione. Give Harry and Ron my love, and I'll see you when school starts up again." Draco doesn't wait for Hermione to answer Ginny; instead he turns and leads her away. When they are finally out of Hermione's sight, he turns to her.

"I didn't think you'd do it."

"Do what?" she asks, confused.

"Stay by my side when you ran into a friend."

"Please," she laughs. "If we spend any amount of time together, they're going to figure it out sooner or later."

"I think you're giving them entirely too much credit," he says, grinning at her. "Shall we share a cup of chocolate?" he asks, pointing to a small vendor. She nods.

"That sounds good." She insists on paying for the drink, so he lets her, promising that the next time, he's buying. They find a bench outside the Three Broomsticks and sit down to drink the cocoa.

They take turns with the cup, drinking until it is empty. They are just about to stand up to leave when Ginny hears her name again. She groans and bites the inside of her cheek before she turns to Draco. "I'm _really_ not feeling up to this," she says quietly.

"Who is it now?"

"Ron. Hermione must have run into him and told him." She stands up and turns just in time to see Ron striding towards her, with Harry not far behind. She remains calm as she tosses the empty paper cup into a nearby wastecan, and tries to ignore her brother.

"_Ginny!"_ He calls again. She takes a deep breath and turns to face him with a very forced smile.

"Hey, Ron, Harry," she says, nodding at Harry. Harry nods curtly, and Ginny wonders why they haven't said anything about Draco yet. She turns, only to find that he isn't there. She is strangely relieved and disappointed when she turns back to her brother.

"Looking for someone?" Ron asks, glancing around.

"It's nice to see you, too," she says scathingly. Ron has the decency to look embarrassed.

"It is nice to see you," he concedes. "Mum really missed not having you with us on Christmas."

"I just didn't feel like it this year," she says, dropping her hands to her sides.

"We're worried about you, Gin," Ron says, his voice full of genuine concern. "Alone at school."

"I'm not alone," she begins, shaking her head. "I haven't been alone for a second since you've all been gone. Several other people have stayed, and I've managed to make a friend."

"That's great," Ron says, smiling enthusiastically. "Who is it?"

"Holy hell," Harry murmurs, his eyes wide in disbelief. Ginny starts to turn, but stops when she feels a hand at the small of her back. She relaxes visibly, which Harry notices and narrows his eyes at. Ron finally notices that a fourth person has joined them, but his smile fades when his eyes fall on the white-blonde hair and slate eyes.

"What's the matter?" Ginny asks pleasantly. "You two look like you've seen a ghost."

Draco sniggers, and she can almost _hear_ his smirk. Harry simply stares at Draco, while Ron turns his eyes back to hers.

"Is he- is that- do you-" He can't seem to find the words to say to her.

"Spit it out, Ron," she commands. Beside her, Draco sniggers again. She knows that when they get back to Hogwarts, he will tease her about her bossiness.

"Is it _really_ him?" he asks. Ginny turns to Draco and folds her arms over her chest.

"What do you think, Draco? Is it really you, or are you someone else today?" He pretends to ponder this for a moment.

"You know, I _did_ feel rather odd when I woke up. Maybe I'm not me, after all."

"Well, there you have it, big brother," she says, patting Ron on the shoulder. "Now if you don't mind, we have things to do before we head back to school, so…" She lets her voice trail off as she turns to walk away.

"_Back_ to school, did you say?" Harry asks. Draco turns and raises his eyebrows at Harry.

"Yes, Potter. _Back_ to school, where I've been since the war ended." Harry's mouth falls open in surprise.

"You're lying," Ron accuses, his ears turning red. "We would have seen you."

"Not if I didn't want to be seen," Draco says, smirking at them. "I believe the lady has some shopping to do yet." Ginny smiles beatifically at him and reaches for his hand. He gives it to her freely, relishing the looks of absolute shock that they're wearing. For extra measure, she plants a kiss on Draco's cheek.

The boys are beyond words as the couple walks away; Ginny is giggling and Draco is chuckling.

He's made his official return, and it was easier than he'd ever dreamed it would be.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

It seems to Draco that everything is a little bit brighter with Ginny around. Things that he thought were earth shattering last month don't really seem to phase him right now. He realizes this when they enter the Three Broomsticks together, and Millicent Bulstrode is having a light supper there with her Mother.

Her eyes widen when she sees Draco; he has no doubt that she too has mistaken his disappearance for death. She watches with those eagle-like eyes of hers as he and Ginny are shown to a corner booth, which secludes them from the majority of the other patrons.

Ginny has been extremely light hearted since their encounter with her brother and Potter, and he has to wonder if it actually even has to do with him. Perhaps she's simply glad to have stood up to them, regardless of _why_ it happened – he doesn't know. He doesn't want to lose the closeness that they've developed, though; she is still the only person on the face of the planet that he trusts right now, besides the old man.

Draco ignores Millicent for the most part. He knows that Ginny has seen her, but to her credit, Ginny says nothing. She seems to understand that Draco will come around on his own terms and won't be pushed too far, and she accepts this. He likes to think that she is so in tune with him that she just knows when to stay silent.

He orders a butterbeer, and she does the same. They are quiet for a while, and when the waitress brings their drinks, it seems to loosen them up. Ginny keeps giving him shy smiles that make his pulse race, and all he can think about is getting her back to his tower where he can be alone with her.

It's not that he hasn't enjoyed his day out with her, he reasons silently. He _has_. He's even enjoyed running into the Boy Wonder and his Bumbling Sidekick, which is saying a lot. He gives her a warm look across the table – he now has something that Potter will never have.

"Do you want to fly again tonight?" she asks, breaking his reverie. He nods.

"Sure," he says, taking another drink of his butterbeer.

"Draco?" He looks up, and there is Millicent, standing at the edge of their booth. He glances at Ginny and is comforted to see that her knuckles are white, she is gripping the mug's handle so tightly.

"Millicent," he echoes coolly. She relaxes visibly, and gives him a weak smile.

"It's really you."

"Who else would it be?"

"It's just- I thought you were-" He sighs. He knows that he'd better get used to this for a while, at least; everyone thinks him to be dead, and everyone he meets is probably going to ask him the same damned thing when they see him for the first time.

"Yes, well, as you can see, I'm _not."_ He looks at Ginny, who is staring into her mug. She seems to have frozen, and Draco wonders if she thinks that not moving will make her invisible to Millicent. When Ginny glances up at him, he winks at her. She bites her lower lip to hide her smile, and her cheeks turn a delightful pink.

"Ginny Weasley, right?" Millicent says, looking down her nose at Ginny. Draco is filled with pride when Ginny looks up and sticks her chin out defiantly.

"In the flesh," she says sweetly. She is being somewhat guarded with her response, and Draco can tell. Perhaps she doesn't know yet whether or not he wants to rekindle friendship with Millicent, and she doesn't want to ruin it for him if he does. Or perhaps she thinks that he's interested in Millicent as more than a friend.

"Was there something you wanted?" he drawls lazily. "Or did you just come over here to gawk at my friend and I?"

"Your friend?" Millicent echoes, looking uncertainly at Ginny.

"Did I stutter?" he asks, leveling an icy glare at her.

"It's just that I thought you hated her family." Draco's temper flares immediately.

"Well then, I suppose it's a good thing that no one's paying you to think," he says, his eyes narrowing. Millicent's face goes red and splotchy with embarrassment, and Ginny almost feels sorry for the girl. _Almost._

"You don't have to be this way," she says, fingering the hem of her jumper nervously. "Things are different now. None of us are anything like what we used to be."

"You still look the same to me," he comments dryly, reaching for his drink.

Millicent deflates at this, and her hands drop to her sides. Ginny doesn't think she's ever seen someone look crestfallen before; she's only read the word in books, but if she had to pin an expression to the word, Millicent's would be spot on.

"Things have changed, Draco. Blaise is friends with Potter, Tracey is living with the Ravenclaws, and I've been staying with the Hufflepuffs."

"Did your little speech have a point, Bulstrode?" he asks, irritated.

"No, I suppose not," she murmurs, eyeing Ginny distastefully. "I can see that you _have_ changed, and that your loyalties have shifted, after all."

"Indeed they have," he agrees, looking at Ginny. His lips curve into a soft smile that is meant just for her, and warmth spreads from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He turns back to Millicent, who is gaping openly at him.

"I'll just see you around school then, shall I?"

"Whatever," he says, shrugging noncommittally. Millicent turns and walks away, casting one final glance at him over her shoulder before she disappears from sight. He turns back to Ginny. "Well, that was interesting."

"What are the odds?" she wonders aloud.

"Odds for what?"

"The odds that on the one day we decide to go out, we run into everyone we know." He smirks at this.

"If your brother, Potter, and Granger are the only people in your social circle, then we have bigger problems than I thought." She rolls her eyes and laughs at him.

"I didn't mean literally, and you know it, Draco." A thrill runs through him at the sound of his name from her lips. She has said it before, and she will say it again, but he's beginning to think that the sensation it causes will never fade. "But now that Millicent has seen us, you know that the whole school will probably know that we're friends before the break is even over."

"Will they?" he asks, amused. "Well they'd all be wrong, wouldn't they?"

"What do you mean?" she asks, frowning slightly. He reaches across the table and covers her hand with his, brushing his thumb lightly across her knuckles.

"We're a bit more than friends, so they'd be wrong."

"I suppose you're right," she admits breathlessly, her stomach turning wild somersaults. The look that she's giving him makes him curious, and he wonders if _she_ thinks that they're only friends, too.

Ginny rises when he's ready to leave, and she agrees that it's time to head back to the school. They are silent on the walk back, for which she is grateful. It gives her time to think about the day's events; to mull them over in her head.

She had purposely avoided thinking about their shared kisses too much for fear that she would overanalyze and ruin the memory of it with doubts and misgivings. She had _hoped_ that they would be more than friends, but she hadn't dared label the kiss as anything other than experimentation – she doesn't like disappointment, and it would disappoint her terribly if he held no interest in her again after those kisses.

When they reach his tower, she watches as he removes his cloak and hangs it back in his closet. He helps her out of hers and hangs it as well. It gives her a sense of belonging to see that he's hung her cloak next to his, and she is suddenly taken with the urge to hug him.

As soon as he's finished hanging the cloaks and closes the closet door, he turns around. She flings herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing. She is gratified when his arms encircle her and squeeze back.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, feeling her tremble.

"No," she says, burying her face in the place where his neck and shoulder meet. "I just – I've had a lovely day, and I wanted to say thank you."

He holds tightly to her, with one arm wrapped around her waist and his other hand tangled in her hair. He has been aching to hold her since they left this morning, but has settled for holding her hand instead, for fear that he will smother her.

"Do you still want to fly?" she asks. He grins to himself – as she speaks, he can feel her jaw moving on his shoulder, and it tickles.

"I'd really rather just stay here tonight," he says.

"Are you hungry?"

"Not really. You?"

"No." They have already eaten their fill of sweets from Honeydukes, and Ginny has no room for real food this evening. Even if she had had room, she knows that she still would have said no to food right now; since this morning, her stomach has been in knots every time Draco touches her.

"What do you want to do?"

"Chess?" she suggests, pulling away from him slowly.

"Not tonight," he breathes, his face inches away from hers.

"Talking?" As she speaks, her eyes are focused on his mouth.

"Maybe later." When his lips touch hers, she can feel her knees getting weak. The thought passes briefly through her mind that this is the design of some higher power – otherwise would she fit so perfectly against him?

When his tongue teases her lips apart, her legs give way beneath her. Draco is surprised, to say the least, and he helps her to the bed, where she sits down on the edge. She looks thoroughly embarrassed, which Draco finds endearing. He sits down beside her and puts his hand on her knee.

"All right there, pet?"

"I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head. "My knees…" Her voice trails off.

"What about your knees?" As soon as the words leave his lips, he realizes what she's trying to say. A smirk of epic proportions graces his face, and he squeezes her knee gently.

"Don't go getting a big head because of this," she laughs.

"Oh, of course not," he says, arching an eyebrow and grinning wickedly at her. "Do you need to lie down, or anything?" She gives him a gentle shove.

"As if your ego wasn't big enough," she sighs melodramatically. He chuckles at this. "If it gets much bigger, it's going to suffocate the both of us."

He doesn't have an answer to this, other than that he knows that after he killed his father, he didn't have an ego to speak of. He knows that she has changed things inside of him, setting off a chain reaction like tumblers in a lock. With every day that passes, he feels his old self coming back, although it's modified slightly from what it used to be.

He's spent the last several months questioning his father's beliefs and teachings, wondering if perhaps he hasn't been led astray somehow. He has spent the last week questioning why his father thought that the Weasleys were beneath them, too. Sure, they weren't wealthy in the conventional way, but Draco understands now that there are different ways in which one can be wealthy.

If he thinks of things in those terms, Ginny Weasley holds more wealth in one of her pinkies than he does in his entire body.

Only now, he thinks. Now she's imparted something to him. She's chosen to share the wealth with him, and try as he might, he can't fathom _why_. He knows that he likes it and that he doesn't want it to stop. He fears what will become of him should she ever see fit to take that light away.

"Draco, are you all right?" Her voice breaks into his thoughts, and he shakes his head gently as though he is trying to clear the thoughts away.

"Yes, I'm fine. I was just thinking."

She doesn't ask about what, which doesn't really surprise him all that much. He has noticed that she anticipates his moods and she can differentiate between them; she knows when she can push and when she shouldn't.

"Are you tired?" He has to smirk at this; he can't resist.

"So eager to get me into bed," he teases. She snorts and rises from the bed, and after she's taken a few steps away, turns to look at him.

"I can stand and walk just fine, thank you very much," she huffs, with her hands on her hips. "And if I recall correctly – which I _do_ – _you're_ the one who suggested that we stay up here the rest of the night."

"I did," he agrees, standing and moving to his dresser to find his pyjamas. "And here we are." She turns away and moves to her bag to get her own pyjamas, ignoring the show that he is putting on for her by removing his shirt and walking around that way.

"I'm not impressed," she teases. He stops walking and stares at her. "It's nothing that I haven't seen before."

"And people think that _I'm_ evil," he mutters, shaking his head. "You are positively wicked, Ginny Weasley. Think what a dynamic team we could be together."

"Yes, the epitome of evil and witty comebacks, that's us," she says, laughing. She disappears into the bathroom to change, and when she emerges, she is wearing her Quidditch t-shirt again. Draco is dumbstruck as she moves past him, seemingly oblivious to the effect that she's having on him.

She moves to her side of the bed and turns the sheets down before climbing into the bed. She glances over to where he's standing, and she raises her eyebrows at him. "I thought you were tired?"

He climbs into bed quickly and dims the candlelight instead of snuffing it. When she gives him a curious look, he shrugs. "I _am_ tired."

"Then why the lights?"

"I thought we could talk for a bit," he says. It is a half-truth, at best. Talking is the furthest thing from his mind at this moment. He wants to hold her, touch her; he wants to _see_ her while he's doing it. This is the first night that he's slept without a shirt, and she is in her t-shirt that doesn't cover anything past her knees. Talk would weigh heavily on the both of him, and tonight he doesn't feel like putting forth the effort that it would require.

"Did you?" she asks, clearly amused. He arches an eyebrow at her.

"Why, you sound as if you don't believe me."

"Maybe it's because I _don't,_" she laughs. He grins at her, and then shifts so that he's lying on his left side with his head propped up on his hand. He is facing her as she lies on her back. _It would be so easy_, he thinks. _So easy to just bend over and kiss her, before she knows what's happened._

"And what else would I have in mind?" he asks, feigning innocence. Her smile fades as she watches him.

"I can't explain it," she whispers, her eyes locked on his. His heartbeat is deafening in his ears; is she making a declaration of her feelings to him? Fear gnaws at the back of his head, lagging just behind curiosity and the worst of all possible emotions – _hope_.

"Explain what?"

"Me. You. This," she says, her eyes glittering madly in the candlelight. "I want to tell you something."

"Is it a good something, or a bad something?"

"I guess that's up to you," she says, shrugging slightly. "In any case, I don't want to scare you away from being my friend. I'm not foolish enough to think that everything would go back to normal if I told you and you didn't like what I said, but I am foolish enough to hope that we could try."

"You're rambling," he says gently. She gives him a wry smile.

"Sorry. I suppose I do, when I get emotional. Well," she says, taking a deep breath. "I know that you know I have more than a friendly interest in you – or I would _hope_ that you know, after this morning."

"I guessed," he says honestly. Even in the dim light, he can see her neck getting splotchy and her cheeks turning pink.

"It wouldn't be fair to either of us if I spent the rest of the week with you without telling you what I felt," she adds.

"So you just wanted to tell me that you have more than a friendly interest in me?" he asks.

"I-I…" her voice trails off. She thought she could tell him, but now that the moment has arrived, she finds that she can't say the words. She is disappointed in herself. It seems that her Gryffindor bravery has deserted her just when she needs it the most.

"Hey, it's all right," he soothes softly. "You don't have to tell me anything." They watch each other in silence for an entire minute, and then the temptation is too much for him. He leans over slowly, bringing their faces closer together. When her eyes flutter closed and her mouth parts slightly, he closes the distance between them and presses his lips to hers.

He drops his right hand to touch her shoulder, and when she shivers, he increases the pressure of the kiss. It is not frenzied and intense like it was that morning – this time their kissing is slow and full of unspoken feelings. Emotions ripple through him like waves crashing on the sand; he is happy, he is warm, and he is loved. Even if she hasn't said it, he can _feel_ it, and it's the most wondrous thing he's ever experienced.


	9. Chapter 9

**_This chapter was originally written in NC-17 format. For the purposes of posting it on this site, it has been edited down. _**

**Chapter Nine**

She doesn't know exactly how long they've been kissing, and she doesn't really care. Her legs feel like jelly and the happy joy bubbles that invade her stomach feel as though they're never going to go away. She likes the sensations he causes; loves the possessive way that his hand roams from her shoulder to her hip.

Her lips are slowly becoming numb and she knows that they will be terribly sore later, but she takes comfort in knowing that his will, too. She also takes comfort in the fact that she will have been the cause of his soreness and that he has been the cause of hers. This seems very fitting to her, this give-and-take, even if she knows that he's mostly interested in the taking part right now.

She tangles her fingers in the back of his hair, loving the way the strands sift like silk through her fingers. She drops her hand lower and touches the warm skin on the nape of his neck, and feels a wave of satisfaction as he groans softly into the kiss. A second later, his mouth has left hers to trail kisses down her jaw. She gasps, trying to regain her breath, but it is a futile effort as his tongue finds the sensitive skin of her throat.

She lets her hands wander to his shoulders, gripping them once gently for good measure when she feels him sucking on her collarbone. Then she lets her hands drift lower so that she's touching his bare back. Her fingers seem to be wandering of their own accord, and it seems like every new patch of skin that she touches sets off a different reaction in Draco. He moans, gasps, and increases the pressure of his mouth at every touch. She wonders that she appears to know him so well.

She is sure that he's leaving a mark on her neck, and she is sure that he is doing it on purpose. Her heart swells at this symbol of ownership. No one has ever wanted her badly enough to leave their mark on her except for Tom, and the mark that he left isn't one that can be seen by normal eyes.

She is surprised when she feels Draco's teeth nip gently at the flesh of her shoulder, but before she can react properly, he has pulled slightly away and has propped himself up above her on his hands. The look he's giving her can only be described as smoldering. Ginny thinks briefly that she's been reading too many romance novels.

"Wow," is all he can manage.

She knows the feeling.

"Wow," she agrees, her voice barely above a whisper. He looks down at the base of her throat, where a red mark the size of his mouth is. He meets her eyes again.

"I left a mark."

"I know."

"Are you mad?"

"No."

"It might not be gone by the time school starts back up," he reminds her.

"I don't care." His mind is reeling. She doesn't mind the hickey that he's given her, which is a first in his experience. Pansy always hated it when he left marks on her, and she complained for days afterward about having to use glamour charms to conceal them.

"Do you know the charms to cover it up?" he asks cautiously. Her response will either crush him or make him want her more – if she says that she will cover them, it will feel as though she's trying to hide her relationship with him from everyone else. If she says she won't cover them, it's just like announcing it to the world, and he is quickly discovering that that is what he wants. He _wants_ the entire world to know that Ginny Weasley is _his_ girl.

But most of all, he wants _her_ to know it, too.

"Do you want me to cover it up?" she asks, absentmindedly stroking his bare arm with her fingertips. He can feel the gooseflesh rising on his arm as a result of her touch.

"No." The answer slips out before he can stop it. Why is it that she always seems to inspire such honesty in him, where he had none before?

"Then I won't."

He exhales the breath that he hadn't realized that he was holding, and he grins at her. She rewards him with the softest of smiles; the kind that makes it seem as though she is thinking naughty thoughts that she can't wait to share.

He lowers his head, capturing her lips in another kiss. She senses something different about this contact – it's neither demanding or passionate; it is tender. Her senses are befuddled with all of the things she is feeling, and it is almost emotional overload. She reaches up to pull him closer, and he rests his entire weight on top of her.

As they kiss, Ginny is struck by the thought that this is very much what she's always imagined a marriage to be like. She gasps and her eyes fly open wide, and Draco pulls away slightly. His eyes are full of genuine concern as he regards her.

"Are you all right?"

"F-fine," she stammers, her heart beating rapidly. He frowns at her.

"What's wrong?"

"I just-" She doesn't know if she should even tell him what she's thinking. He is a teenaged boy, she reasons. If he found out that she'd even _thought_ of the word marriage in conjunction to him, it would frighten him, and he might sever contact with her. She is a teenaged girl, and even though she dreams of marriage and family, the thought frightens even her. "I really like you."

"Nice cover," he smirks. He isn't foolish enough to believe that she was distracted by thoughts of _liking _him. She rolls her eyes.

"Typical male," she teases. "Always thinking that a woman has devious plots and evil thoughts that she doesn't voice."

"We're not talking about a typical woman, though, Ginny," he says, his voice throaty. He is speaking so that his voice penetrates her and shoots to her very core. Her body stirs in places that she didn't think that a mere voice could affect, and the desire evidences itself in her expression.

Draco watches in fascination as her expression progresses from amusement, then to surprise, and then finally to _want_. She pulls him back down to her and crushes her lips against his, taking what she needs from him. He is surprised at first, but after her tongue invades his mouth, everything else takes a back seat to his own desire.

Somehow she manages to flip their positions, and he finds himself rather suddenly on his back. She is straddling him, and the feel of her hips grinding against him is driving him mad. All that separates them are two flimsy pieces of material – her knickers and his pyjama pants.

She lowers her head and takes his earlobe gently between her teeth. He gasps, and she halts her assault on his ear to travel slowly down his neck. He is dying from her kisses; burning alive as her mouth leaves a wake of fire behind it. When she stops at his collarbone, he feels her begin to suck.

His eyes fly open wide in shock. She is marking him! His eyes drift shut again as her tongue laves the red mark she's just made, and his hands fist in her hair. When her mouth moves to his bare chest, he can't contain the growl that bubbles up in his throat. She lifts her head and looks at him.

He thinks that she is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. She's regarding him through heavily lidded eyes and her lips are red and swollen. Her copper hair hangs loose around her face, making her look like a wild creature.

"I want you," he breathes. In his desire, he knows no pride; knows no shame. He is not hesitant in the least in voicing what he needs.

She crawls up his body until her face is directly above his, and she kisses him softly. The motion of her lips against his is agonizingly slow, and he wonders if she knows that she's killing him. When she pulls away, their noses are touching, and her breath is hot against his mouth.

"I want you," he whispers again. She closes her eyes to savor his words, and when she opens them to look at him, she gives him a feral smile.

"So have me."

Several paragraphs edited out for adult content

"Come here," he demands softly, his arms open. She moves closer and he wraps his arms around her, planting a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"It's never been like that before," he confesses, still breathing heavily. He can't find the words to explain the emotions that he's experiencing, but he is sure of one thing beyond a doubt – he is in love with her.

She snuggles up to him, throwing one leg over him and laying her arm across his chest. She rests her cheek on his shoulder and closes her eyes as she nods. She is sated and totally happy for the first time in a very long time. She can't recall a time when she's ever felt so complete.

When her breathing has steadied, he extinguishes the candles. "Ginny?" he whispers. She does not answer, and he knows that she is asleep. He smiles into the darkness and kisses her forehead.

"I love you."

**insert divider here**

When he opens his eyes to the blinding sunlight flooding the room, the events of the previous night rush to the forefront of his mind. He glances down at the woman in his arms; she is sleeping with her head on his chest and one leg thrown over him. He smiles at this. He likes her possessiveness; even in her sleep she claims him.

He is reluctant to get out of bed, but he needs to use the loo and he wants to inspect the mark she's left on him. He maneuvers his way out from beneath her and moves quietly to the loo. When he looks in the mirror, a pool of emotion forms in the pit of his stomach. There, just above his collarbone, is a bright red circle.

When he chooses his clothes for the day, he purposely picks a shirt that displays the hickey. He lays the clothes on the foot of the bed and slides back beneath the covers, where she snuggles up to him immediately.

He drops several light kisses on her shoulder, grinning stupidly at the way they make her squirm. Finally she frowns at him. "It's not nice to wake a person who's trying to sleep."

"It's not nice to sleep when a person's trying to wake you," he replies, smirking. She laughs at this and opens her eyes.

"You're spoiled."

"I think we've already established that fact." He drops a light kiss on her swollen lips, and she smiles again.

"Don't try to get on my good side," she grumbles good-naturedly. "A kiss isn't going to make up for waking me. I was having an exceptionally good dream, too." She heaves an exaggerated sigh, and he chuckles.

"Must have been about me." She rolls her eyes even as she blushes.

"Prat."

"You can admit it, you know," he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at her. "I know how devilishly attractive I am."

"Please," she says, pushing him away playfully. "Arrogant is more like it."

"I prefer the term self-assured."

"Same thing," she laughs. He had been afraid that the atmosphere between them this morning would be stifled and embarrassed, due to the events of the previous night, but he is happy to be proved wrong. She doesn't seem embarrassed at all – if anything, she seems more at ease. She brushes the back of her hand gently against his cheek. "Knut for your thoughts," she says softly.

"What are we going to do when school starts back up?" he blurts out. He kicks himself mentally for voicing his fear, but when her face falls, he knows that she has been thinking about the same thing.

"I don't know," she says honestly. "I don't think that Dumbledore would allow me to sleep up here."

"Do you suppose he already knows that you're doing it now?"

"I'm sure he does," she says, nodding.

"Smarmy bastard," he mutters, glancing around the room. "Old man knows everything. I bet he's even watching us now."

"Ugh," she groans, squeezing her eyes shut. "Don't say that. I don't want to imagine him watching me like this."

"Sorry," he says quickly, grinning. "He must know, though, since he hasn't sent McGonagall after you."

"I hadn't thought about that," she admits. "Do you think he knows about last night?"

"How do you mean?"

"About what we did?" Her cheeks color slightly as she says this, and he plants a firm kiss on her forehead.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it. Students fool around all the time, even though the Professors have set up charms to prevent it. They always find a way."

"But what we did wasn't just fooling around," she says. And then, her voice smaller than he has ever heard it, "Was it?"

"No," he says gravely. "It wasn't."

She breathes a sigh of relief, and he frowns. He thought that he'd made it clear how important she is to him, but apparently he's given himself too much credit. If she is able to think that their intimacy is meaningless to him, he has not made his feelings known.

"Do you think he knows, then?"

"Ginny," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Students younger than us have had sex in the castle before and not been caught." Her eyes widen at this.

"What? Who?"

"Zabini and Susan Bones used to favor one broom closet in particular," he says. Her mouth drops open, and she giggles.

"They dated?"

"No, they _shagged._ There's a big difference. They never had any sort of relationship that went beyond being physical."

"When was this?"

"During my third year."

"He's stayed true, then," she says, recalling him in the Great Hall before the break. "I think he's still with Susan."

"Really?" This is interesting news to Draco. Blaise used to deny his relationship with the Bones girl whenever a fellow Slytherin confronted him with it. The idea that he is still with her suggests that there was something besides physicality present when they were sneaking around together, and Draco finds that he has a grudging respect for the boy because of it.

"Are you going to start going to classes and letting the other students see you again?" she asks hesitantly.

"I think so," he says, nodding. She has given him the strength to face them all again, even though he knows that there will be endless questions and accusing stares. She kisses his shoulder before resting her head on it.

"You don't have to," she says.

"I know."

"I'm going to miss being alone with you," she laments. He frowns at this.

"Are you planning on abandoning me?"

"What? _No!_ I just meant that I'm going to miss this time together, doing whatever we want, whenever we want. I'm going to miss the privacy of it all."

"I don't think I'll be moving anytime soon," he says, shifting to look at her. "Have you already decided that you're not going to come and visit me anymore?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. "I hadn't considered that an option at all."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I just meant… well, I suppose I meant that I'm wondering if you'll still hold an interest in me once you come back." He puts his index finger beneath her chin and gently forces it up.

"I'm not letting you go so easily," he admonishes softly. He drops his finger to trace the love bite on her collarbone, and she shivers. "This is my mark of ownership."

"What is my mark on you, then?" she asks breathlessly. "Does that mean that I own you, as well?"

"Every bit."

She slides her lips against his, showering several emotional kisses on him. He is just about to slip his hand beneath the covers when a noise startles him, and he pulls away. His eyes narrow as he listens.

"Get dressed," he hisses quickly, rising from the bed. He throws on his clothes as she grabs her own things and runs into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. As soon as she is gone from sight, there is a knock on his door. "What do you want?" he calls.

"Open the door, Malfoy!" Ron demands angrily. Draco grabs his wand and holds it at the ready as he nears the door. When he opens it, he is greeted not only by her brother, but by Potter and Granger as well.

"What do you lot want?" he asks distastefully. Ron's ears are purple, and Hermione's cheeks are flushed. Harry's green eyes seem to be trying to bore a hole through Draco's skull.

"I want to know where in the bloody hell my sister is, that's what I want!"

"Why don't you go and check her dormitory?" Draco suggests coolly.

"Because she's not there, and we know that you know where she is," Hermione huffs, her hands on her hips.

"Do I look like your sister's keeper?" he drawls lazily, leaning against the door frame. "And how, might I ask, did you find me?"

At this, Harry's face turns red, and in what Draco is sure is an unconscious gesture, touches his hand briefly to his pocket. Ron pushes past him and enters his room, glancing around wildly. His eyes fall on the knickers that Draco removed from Ginny last night, and he pales.

"She's here," Ron insists, his eyes locked on the undergarment.

"And what makes you think that?"

"Those are hers," Ron says, indicating the knickers. Draco arches an eyebrow and smirks at him.

"And pray tell, how would you know what kind of knickers your _sister_ wears?"

Ron's ears turn purple. He turns to Harry and Hermione and frowns. "I _know_ she's been here," he insists.

"Even if she has, she's not here now," Hermione reasons, glancing around. "Why don't we go eat, and we'll keep looking for her."

Ron nods and allows himself to be guided out of the room, but not before casting a warning glare over his shoulder at Draco. Draco listens until he can no longer hear their voices or their footsteps, and then he rolls his eyes. Ginny emerges from the bathroom, wearing only her robe.

"I thought you were getting dressed," he accuses, arching an eyebrow. She pushes her hair away from her face and glances at the door.

"I was, but the clothes I took in there were dirty," she says reasonably. She bends and picks up her discarded knickers, dangling them off of her forefinger. "And besides, I didn't have these."

He laughs at this.

"Did you have much trouble with them?" she asks, moving to put the knickers in the bag that she's been keeping her dirty laundry in.

"No, though Potter looked ready to kill me," he drawls, folding his arms over his chest. He watches as she rummages through her duffel bag, searching for an outfit to wear. "Want to go and comfort them?"

She glares at him as she stands with a bundle of clothes in her arms. "You've _got_ to be kidding," she says, shaking her head. "Can you imagine the conversation we'd have?"

"Right," he says, sniggering. He begins to speak in a high pitched voice, trying to imitate her. "Ron, I've been shagging Draco Malfoy, and he's the best shag I've ever had."

She throws her jeans at him and laughs. He holds the jeans up and tsk-tsks at her.

"Now what are you going to wear when I don't give these back?" She bats her eyes at him.

"I'll just take yours," she says sweetly. His eyebrows shoot up.

"Really?" Before she can tell him that she's joking, he turns and points his wand at the door, muttering a silencing spell. When he turns back to her, he tosses his wand onto his nightstand and spreads his arms out. "I'm ready. Have at it."

She laughs incredulously. "I wasn't being serious," she explains. He drops his arms and smirks at her.

"You just know that you can't do it."

"Oh, Gods," she says, rolling her eyes. "This is _so_ childish, Draco! Do you really think that that sort of baiting is going to work on me?" He takes several steps toward her, closing the distance between their bodies.

Several paragraphs edited out for adult content

"That's it," he declares, breathing heavily. "We're never getting out of this bed again. Do you realize what you do to me, woman?"

She smiles softly as she wraps her arms around him and squeezes. "I'll stay here if you will." He pulls away and grins at her as he brushes stray hairs away from her face.

"I suppose that staying in the bed forever is impractical," he says, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"Says who?" she pouts. He chuckles. "You're right, I know. We've got to eat and go to the loo sometime, I know."

"Speaking of eating," he says, sitting up. "I'm famished."

She sits up and clutches the sheet to her breast. "Now that you mention it, so am I. Should we ring for the house elves?"

"Why don't we eat in the Great Hall today?" he suggests, retrieving his clothes from the edge of the bed. When she doesn't reply, he turns to look at her. Her mouth is hanging open and she is staring at him. "What?"

"Are you ready for that?" she asks uncertainly.

"Well, I handled the Wonder Twits in Hogsmeade with my usual unfailing grace," he reasons. She rolls her eyes at this, and gets out of bed. "Not to mention that I managed to speak to Bulstrode without cutting her down too badly. Come to think of it, I must be losing my edge," he murmurs. She snorts at this.

"Trust me, you're not," she calls from the open bathroom. "If anything, you're honing it." He considers this, and decides that he agrees. With no one to talk to, his ability to make witty comebacks and scathing comments has dulled, and it's only natural that he's going to need some time to sharpen them.

She emerges from the bathroom freshly dressed in jeans and a pale yellow jumper. He's never thought that redheads should wear orange or yellow, suspecting that it would clash with their hair, but her hair is dark enough that the yellow only brings out the streaks of gold in her hair.

She turns and catches him staring at her, and gives him an amused smile. "Is something wrong?" His eyes are fixed on the collar of her jumper, where he can just see the top of his mark on her over the garment. He smiles brilliantly at her and shakes his head.

"Nothing. Let's go eat."


	10. Chapter 10

Draco walks slightly behind Ginny as they make their way to the Great Hall to eat. He isn't doing it purposely, and even though she notices and finds it a bit disconcerting, she doesn't say anything about it.

When they reach the tall oak doors, she turns to him. "Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"Absolutely," he says without hesitation.

As long as she is with him, his fear is minimal. Even if every person in the Great Hall stares at him through the entire meal, he will have her by his side; _on_ his side. She saw what happened and she knows the truth, and that is all he needs right now.

She pushes the doors open and waits for him to enter first, and then follows very closely behind. Their entrance is greeted with a profound silence; there is only one table in the middle of the room that seats staff and students alike, and they are staring at Draco.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron are sitting on one side of the table, facing Blaise and Susan; the other students (which are scant – there are perhaps twenty of them) are scattered around the table. When Draco looks up, he meets Dumbledore's eyes. The old man smiles and inclines his head slightly towards Draco before going back to his conversation with Professor Flitwick.

When Draco sits down and Ginny takes the only chair next to him, Ron starts to stand up. Hermione puts a hand on his arm to restrain him and shakes her head at him. Harry shoots a glare in Draco's direction before going back to his food.

"This is going well," Ginny whispers, sniggering softly. Draco cannot help the grin that spreads across his face, and he arches an eyebrow at her.

"Smashing," he agrees, reaching for his glass of pumpkin juice. She reaches for her glass at the same time, and their fingers brush together. She blushes and he smirks at her, both of them oblivious to the fact that they're being so closely watched.

Blaise and Susan are trying not to stare, but it's proving to be an impossible task. For years they have been hiding their relationship; for so long, they hid it from _Draco, _in particular Now, to see him sitting next to a woman (and a _Weasley_ at that) is enough to stun them into speechlessness.

They, like the rest of the student body, had thought Draco dead, but it is clear that the blonde sitting at the end of the table is undeniably him. His smirk is unique, and the Malfoy characteristics are present. No other family in all of the wizarding world has ever had that white-blonde hair, and no one that Blaise has ever seen before has had the silver-grey eyes that are the Malfoy family trademark.

Blaise has known Draco since they were infants, and he has never seen his friend so open with someone of the opposite sex. Draco is obviously besotted with the redhead; his attention is focused solely on her. Blaise understands this change – he went through it when he met Susan. He knows how one person can become your entire reason for living.

He just never thought he'd see the day when it would happen to Draco Malfoy.

It becomes very clear to Blaise that Ron is having a hard go of restraining himself, and he strongly suspects that if Hermione wasn't present, the redhead would have already tried to hex Draco into oblivion. The tension at the end of the table goes unnoticed by Ginny and Draco, however, and they continue to talk and laugh as though they are alone.

Hermione watches them, noting how fluidly they move together. She is surprised at the consideration that they show each other; when Draco's goblet is empty, Ginny refills it for him, and when Ginny accidentally spills some juice on her leg, Draco dabs at it with his napkin. The action causes her to giggle, and he whispers something that makes her blush.

"He's disgusting," Ron mutters under his breath.

"Ron, not now," Hermione warns, frowning at him. Harry gives her an odd look, and she wonders if he sees what she does. When Ron leaves the table in a huff and storms out of the Great Hall, Hermione turns to Harry.

"He seems different," Harry whispers. Hermione nods. "He hasn't given me any dirty looks or insulted either of us."

"He hasn't made any nasty comments to _anyone_," she points out.

"He hasn't spoken to anyone but Ginny," Harry adds.

"And she hasn't spoken to anyone but him."

They turn and watch as Ginny giggles at something Draco has said. The couple finish their meal and rise from their chairs, heading towards the doors. Once they are in the hallway, they begin to head toward Draco's tower. Before they can get too far away, though, Blaise and Susan approach them.

"Draco," Blaise calls. Draco and Ginny stop walking and turn around, and Draco gives Blaise a curt nod.

"Zabini." He turns and looks at Susan, who moves slightly behind Blaise. "Bones." Susan's eyes widen slightly at being so casually addressed by someone who, for all intents and purposes, has hated her since they met.

"It's good to see you back," Blaise says honestly. Draco eyes him carefully for a moment, and Ginny wonders if he will believe his old friend.

"Thanks," Draco says, giving Blaise a small – but genuine – smile.

"Are you two dating?" Susan blurts. Blaise shrugs and gives Draco an embarrassed look, as if to apologize for his girlfriend's behavior. Draco turns and looks at Ginny, who is biting her bottom lip in an effort to hide her own smile.

"What do you think, Ginny?" he asks her. She composes herself and looks Susan in the eyes when she answers. "Are we dating?"

"We're not dating," she says seriously. Draco looks slightly surprised until she says, "We're just shagging, and there's a difference."

Susan gasps and Blaise's jaw drops as Draco begins laughing. Ginny raises her eyebrows at the looks that she's getting from the couple. "It was a _joke,_" she explains. Immediately Susan melts into nervous giggles and Blaise closes his mouth.

"Right," Blaise breathes, relieved. "So does this mean that we'll be seeing you around more often?"

"Perish the thought," Ginny teases. Draco arches his eyebrow at her and shakes his head before turning back to Blaise.

"Does Susan give you this much trouble?"

"Of course," Blaise answers, grinning. Susan smacks his shoulder lightly and pretends to look offended. Draco turns and starts walking in Ginny's direction. "Draco?"

Draco stops beside Ginny and turns to look at his friend.

"Do you guys wanna hang out sometime? Maybe go on a double date, or something?"

"Maybe," Draco shrugs noncommittally. Blaise nods.

"We'll see you around, then." Draco nods at him, and then follows Ginny back to the tower. When they're safely back inside, Ginny throws herself across the bed on her stomach, laughing.

"What is so funny?" he demands, grinning.

"Did you _see_ their faces when I said that we were just shagging? _Un_believable!"

"You never did answer their question," he points out, sitting down beside her.

"They asked _you_, not me," she says, sitting up.

"They did, didn't they?" he agrees. He doesn't want to admit that it caught him off guard. "Why didn't you answer them?"

"I didn't know what to say," she admits. He is humbled by her honesty; he was thinking the same thing, but was reluctant to admit it. "What would you have liked me to say?"

"I think," he says, reaching for her. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close, and she clasps her hands behind his neck. Their faces are inches apart now. "That I would have liked you to say yes."

"As in, yes, we are dating?" she breathes, her lips tickling his as she speaks.

"As in, yes, we are dating," he confirms. She meets his eyes before pressing her lips against his. He teases her lips apart with his tongue, deepening the kiss. After a moment, they pull apart and he drops tiny kisses on each of her cheeks, then her forehead, and each of her closed eyelids.

"If you think my brother is mad now, wait until he finds out that we're more than friends."

"I think he already knows, pet," he says, closing his eyes as she hugs him. "He saw your knickers on my floor, remember?"

"I wish I didn't," she moans, shaking her head. She pulls away and looks at him. "I think I need you to _Obliviate_ that memory."

He laughs and rests his forehead against hers. "How _did_ he know they were yours, anyway?"

"I don't know," she says, grimacing. "And I don't _want_ to know, either. I _hope_ he was only guessing."

"So," he says, changing the subject. "What shall we do today?"

"You mean, now that everyone knows you're alive?" she points out, smiling.

"_Everyone_ doesn't know," he disagrees. _"Some_ people know."

"What do you want to do?" she asks. He thinks about this for a minute, turning over the possibilities in his mind. They could go outside for a walk, but they'd risk running into her brother or the entire trio. They could fly, but they could run into others on the pitch, as well. They could go into Hogsmeade again, but all of the people around them… his thoughts stop turning to going out. He doesn't want to go out; he has a week left with her, and he doesn't particularly feel like having other people gawk at them – especially since he knows that he'll attract plenty of stares once the term begins again.

"Why don't we stay up here all day," he suggests silkily. She laughs softly at this.

"You know that they're going to come looking for me again if I do that," she says.

"And?"

"You're right. I don't want to be around anyone else today," she agrees. "But why don't you want to be around them? I imagined that when you made your presence known, you'd like to go and taunt them for thinking you were dead, or something."

"If I went, you'd go with me, wouldn't you?"

"Of course."

"Well, I've never been very good at sharing my things, and I don't intend to start now, either. They can all sod off, for all I care."

"You don't want to be around anyone else because you don't want to share me with them?" she asks breathlessly.

"I think that sums it up nicely," he agrees, nodding. To his surprise, her eyes fill with tears.

"That's the most wonderful thing I think I've ever heard," she whispers, the tears spilling down her cheeks. He lifts a finger and gently brushes the moisture away. He's always been uncomfortable around women who cry, but he finds that this time is somehow different. Maybe it's because he knows that her crying isn't caused by sadness or anger, or perhaps it's because he knows that she's crying over him. Whatever the reason, his is mildly surprised at his feeling of flattery over it.

He doesn't tell her not to cry. He doesn't tell her that he thinks she's stupid for crying. And best of all, he's giving her _that_ look; the one that she thinks would melt icebergs, if he had a mind to do it. She closes her eyes and presses herself against him as she touches her lips to his, trying to communicate all of her emotions through a kiss.

When he feels her tongue touch his lips in an attempt to part them, it is all he can do to refrain himself from throwing her down on the bed. He likes that she can be soft and yielding when he needs that from her, but he also likes that she can be demanding and self-serving when it suits her.

Pansy used to be only compliant, doing whatever he wanted, when he wanted it. He believes that this is part of the reason why he became bored with her as quickly as he did. Ginny is not like that; he knows that she will not just tell him what he wants to hear, or do what he wants her to do without question. She will speak her mind, and if it's warranted, she will discuss it with him.

He knows how stubborn she is already, otherwise she would never have kept returning for the tutoring. He wonders what she saw in him that made her want to come back, and what she sees in him now that makes her stay. Whatever it is, he is grateful for it. He is grateful for _her_.

Her kisses are intense, and he knows that there is a driving emotion behind them. He just wishes that he knew exactly what it was. Is it simple happiness, or could it be gratitude? Or is it perhaps something bigger than that, more complex? Could it be love?

At this thought, he throws himself into the kiss, holding nothing back. He is in love with her, and if there is even the slightest chance that she might return even a fraction of what he feels, then he wants to know. He crushes her to him, holding her so tightly that he isn't sure anymore where he ends and she begins.

Her hands sift through his hair as his hands roam freely over her back. She wants to be free of the barrier of their clothes, but she doesn't want him to think that she only wants physicality from him. She wants so much more than that – even more clear than ever before, she realizes that what she felt for Harry wasn't love. What she felt for Harry, for Michael, for Dean – all of these combined pale in comparison to what she feels for the man in her arms.

His lips move from her mouth to her neck, sucking gently on every new patch of skin that his mouth discovers. When he feels her fingers digging into his shoulders, he stops to gather his breath. She takes his pause as permission to start her own explorations, and maneuvers them both so that she is nuzzling his ears. She catches the flesh of his earlobe gently between her teeth, and he shivers from the feel of her breath in his ear.

When her lips seek out the sensitive flesh of his own neck, he gasps. Her tongue traces tiny circles on his skin as she works, causing gooseflesh to rise on his arms. When she reaches down to pull his shirt off, he doesn't protest. He raises his arms to allow her to tug his shirt over his head, and she drops it on the floor. She continues to kiss him, moving her focus to his shoulders.

When he feels her nip gently at his left shoulder, he groans. Her hands explore his bare chest, memorizing every square inch of it. Finally he can take no more, and his fingers fumble with the buttons on her the front of her shirt. When he pulls it open, she stops kissing him and shrugs it off.

_**Several paragraphs edited out for adult content**_

"Ginny," he moans. She begins to shudder. His face is buried in the space between her neck and shoulder as he speaks. "Gods, I love you."

He wonders if she's heard him. He isn't even sure if he's said it aloud, or if he simply thought it with so much force that it _felt_ like he was saying it. When her shudders have stopped, she is still trembling. He pulls away slightly, his chest flooding with fear as he meets her eyes.

"You – did you say – " Her eyes are wide and filled with wonder. He swallows down the lump in his throat with difficulty.

"Did I say what?" he asks cautiously. He is fully prepared to deny voicing the sentiment if he suspects that it will frighten or anger her.

"Did you say that you _love _me?" Her legs are still wrapped around him, preventing him from reacting to his body's flight response. He hesitates before licking his lips and meeting her eyes again.

"I did."

"Did you mean it, or was it just something you said in the moment?"

"I am not in the habit of saying things that I don't mean," he says, frowning. A smile like the sunrise bursts across her face, and she pulls him down for a kiss that steals his breath away. When she releases him, she is still smiling.

"You love me," she says, lifting her hand to caress the side of his face.

"I think we've already established that fact," he says, awash in disappointment. She has not returned the sentiment, and he's not sure how to take that. It's a bitter pill to swallow; to finally fall in love with a woman and tell her, only to have her not reciprocate.

He withdraws and sits on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through his hair to smooth it down. When she sits up and approaches him, he pulls away and gathers his clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

She stares after him for a moment, wondering why he seems so cold all of a sudden. If he didn't want her to know how he felt, why did he tell her? She doesn't like the seed of doubt that is planting itself inside her mind. No man has ever told her that he loves her before, and she finds that she is having mixed reactions to it.

She is flattered, she is flabbergasted, and she is curious – but most of all, she is _warm_. It's the only way she knows how to describe the sensations that are reverberating inside her chest. She is overwhelmed with love for him, and she isn't quite sure how to handle that feeling. Her affections feel as though they are going to bubble up and out of her, and she doesn't want that to happen. She doesn't want to become a blubbering mess in front of him.

She retrieves her clothes and pulls them on slowly, facing the fireplace as she dresses. She hears the bathroom door open when he comes out, and even though her back is to him, she can feel his eyes on her. She buttons up her shirt with trembling fingers, and then sits on the edge of the bed as she pulls her socks on.

Draco watches all of this with a level of detachment that he hasn't felt since before she started spending time with him. He knows that he is being cool towards her, but he doesn't know how else to react. She hasn't told him that she loves him too, and he wonders now what this time together with him has meant to her.

He doesn't know how to deal with the hurt and disappointment that he feels; the enormity of it makes his chest ache so much that it feels like it will cave in at any given moment. He half expected her to throw herself at him when he emerged from the loo, but she has remained carefully distant from him.

When she finally turns to face him, he can see the confusion rippling in her eyes, and it pierces him like a sword. She is hurt, too, he can tell – but he doesn't understand why. After all, he was the one who made the declaration of feeling, not her.

"I think we need to talk," she says softly.

"I think we've said enough," he says decisively. She stares at him for a moment, and then her arms drop to her sides in defeat.

"Do you want me to go?"

He doesn't want her to leave – leaving him after such a confession would make him feel deserted and unwanted, and he doesn't want to be alone and feel that way. He needs her to stay; needs her laughter and her touches to sustain him.

But he can't, and _won't_, beg her for her love in return.

"I think you should."

She nods slowly in acceptance, and he watches with a heavy heart as she gathers all of her belongings and shoves them into her duffel bag. She heaves the bag over her shoulder and heads toward the door. When she reaches it, she pauses, and he wonders briefly if she's waiting for him to stop her, or if she's going to say something. When she shakes her head and disappears through the door, he exhales slowly.

The sound of her footsteps descending the stairs away from his tower chips away at him, and before he understands what's happening, he can feel the wetness on his cheeks. He has never let anyone go before, although he knows that that is what's just transpired. He didn't force her away and she didn't leave of her own volition – he's let her go.

And it's already killing him.


	11. Chapter 11

_30 December_

_She's gone. We didn't even fight, and she's gone. It feels wrong. This is the first night I've spent without her, and I'm not even tired. I have a feeling that I won't be sleeping tonight – or maybe for a while._

_Is it supposed to feel this way? I feel… it sounds horrible and cliché_, _but I feel hollow. Empty. Like half of me is missing. It just feels wrong. I know I wrote that already, but I don't have any other words to describe it._

_I can still smell her on the pillow and the sheets, and if I try hard enough, I can almost see her there, too. I tried to lay down, but when I did, I found that I was avoiding contact with her side of the bed. Damn it, it's _my_ bed! She shouldn't _have_ a side!_

_I know that eventually I'll work through this, just like everything else. But I don't want to work through it, and I don't want her to be gone. I feel stupid and weak for that. Maybe my Father was right; I am a disappointment._

_I allowed myself to fall in love, and then I was foolish enough to let her know how strongly I felt. What am I going to do when school starts back and I'm forced to see her at every meal?_

* * *

30 December 

_He told me he loved me! He told me that he loved me, and I was so happy that I didn't know what to say… so I didn't say anything. And then he started acting funny. I didn't understand why at the time, but since I can't sleep, I've been thinking about it, and I think I understand now. I think he's upset because I didn't say it back to him._

_How is it that I always manage to screw everything up so badly? I love him, and I've known that for at least a few days now. So why couldn't I say it back to him? I was afraid of scaring him with my feelings, and in the process, I managed to scare myself right out of saying it at all. _

_At least Ron isn't here right now to know what's happened; I just don't think I could stand anyone saying they told me so. _

* * *

31 December, New Year's Eve 

_I didn't sleep well last night at all, but I suppose that I expected that to happen. I'm scared – what if I can never get a good night's sleep again without her nearby? I had the house elves come in to change the sheets, but when they tried to change the pillowcase on the pillow she used, I wouldn't let them. Are all men this weak when they fall in love?_

_A week is all that's left before the term starts back up, and then I have to resume tutoring her in Potions. How am I going to be able to sit in a room with her three times a week, and not touch her? And even worse, how will I ever be able to look her in the eye again?_

_I have been waiting all day. For what, I'm not sure. Am I waiting for her brother to come in and gloat, or pummel me? Am I waiting for her to come back and tell me that she loves me and wants me, too? Or am I just waiting for my feelings to fade? Because none of those things have happened, and none of them are likely to, either._

_I can't help but wonder if she's thinking of me, too, or if she's regretting anything that happened between us. I hope at the very least that she doesn't regret the time we spent together, because I know that I never will. She gave me the strength back that I needed to return to normality, and I will always be grateful to her for that. _

* * *

31 December 

_I miss Draco. I miss his arms around me, I miss the smell of him, and I miss his voice. Ever since I left yesterday, my chest has hurt. My stomach hurts when I think of him, which pretty much means that it hurts all the time, because I haven't stopped thinking of him yet._

_Hermione seems happy to have me back in the Tower, and she's done nothing but talk my ears off. Right now she's at dinner with Harry and Ron, so I have a temporary reprieve from her constant nattering. She hasn't mentioned Draco's name, but she tiptoes around the events of the last week. _

_Ron hasn't asked me about what happened, but for the most part he seems to be glad that I'm back, too. He's acting strangely – he even hugged me this morning. I think I hurt his feelings because I pulled away from him, but I can't help it. It's not my brother's arms that I want around me._

_Harry refuses to even look at me, which is just as well. I suppose he feels I've betrayed him, or some other such nonsense. Draco isn't the same person he used to be, and if they knew him, they would understand that. I don't think they want to know, though. There are a lot of things that they prefer to turn a blind eye to._

_Blaise stopped by to check on me today. When I asked him how he knew, he said that he'd run into Draco at dinner last night, and they'd talked for a while. It's good that Draco is rebuilding his friendship with Blaise – he's a good guy, and Draco needs someone to talk to._

_Blaise asked me if I wanted to do something with him or Susan, but I said no. I don't really feel like seeing anyone right now – especially with it being New Year's Eve. He said he would come back tonight; apparently Dumbledore has arranged to have a small party in the Great Hall for the students who've already come back – which still aren't many, although there are a fair few more than yesterday._

_I strongly suspect that Harry, Ron, and Hermione returned to school not because of our interlude in Hogsmeade, but because they couldn't be alone together at home. Mum was probably hovering over them the whole time they were there, and they hate that._

_Why is it so hard to understand that I hate people hovering over me, too? _

* * *

The week before term passes in a blur for Draco. Blaise and Susan have visited him twice in his tower before the week is over, and he finds that he is glad to have their company. He starts eating his meals with them in the Great Hall, and because he is eating with them, they opt to share the Hufflepuff's table.

Draco is painfully aware that Ginny is always absent from the Great Hall during mealtimes, and he wonders if she's eating properly. He never sees the trio take her food. He relaxes a bit when he remembers her tickling the pear and sneaking into the kitchens; perhaps she's just going when everyone else is otherwise occupied.

When the term begins, he finds that he's become more of a celebrity than Potter, if that's possible. Everyone wants to know him, and everyone wants to know what happened. People that he knows for a fact have always despised him suddenly seem to want to be his best friends. He wonders vaguely if this is how Potter felt when he started school at Hogwarts.

He manages to make it to all of his classes on time, despite the people who crowd around him in the hallways. When he is on his way to Transfiguration, he thinks that he catches a glimpse of copper colored hair – but when he cranes his neck to get a better view, he sees that it's only the reflection of a torch on the window.

His first few days of classes are exhausting, and not sleeping just makes everything worse. At best, he has managed to get a whopping two hours of sleep per night, and even that isn't all at once. By Thursday evening, he begins to wonder if Ginny has been reassigned to another tutor.

He waits until seven thirty, and when she doesn't show up, he decides to go to the library. He needs to check out some books for his Charms essay that is due Tuesday, and since he has some free time, this is the time to go. When he enters the library, it hits him like an oncoming train. The scent of her perfume is faint, but it lingers in the air.

His heart starts pounding madly as he glances around the room, but to his mingled disappointment and relief, he doesn't see her. He heads towards the section where he needs to look for his books, and suddenly, there she is.

He stops mid-step, frozen in place as he watches her. She is in the small study room that they first met in, and she is sitting at the table with her head bent over something. When he steps closer, he realizes that the door to the study room is slightly ajar. He moves even closer still, and sees that she is frowning over the papers that are scattered across the table.

When he glances down at the book on the table, he sucks in a deep breath. _Potions._ Is she waiting there for him, he wonders? She's never sent him any kind of notice that she's decided to use the study room again. As soon as this thought enters his mind, his heart sinks. It wasn't until this moment that he realizes that he had been counting on her coming to his tower for their sessions again.

He takes a deep breath and pushes the door to the study room open, and enters. She looks up in surprise, and almost immediately looks back down at her papers, but it is too late. Draco has seen her face; has seen the dark smudges beneath her eyes. They are exacerbated by the fact that her eyes are red and puffy.

He drops his books on the table, and the noise causes her to jump slightly. When he sits down, he can tell that it affects her. She begins to chew on the end of her quill. "So," he says coolly. "What problem is it this week?"

She doesn't reply. Instead she slides a single parchment across the table for him to examine. When he picks it up, he notes that her marks are a bit higher than they were before break, which is surprising to him.

They stay in the room for less than an hour, working silently on her papers. Draco reads through them and either crosses things out or writes comments in the margins. When he is finished with the last parchment, without a word she gathers her things and begins shoving them into her bookbag.

"Tomorrow night, same place, seven o'clock, yeah?" he asks. She nods and disappears through the door, leaving Draco to his own work.

Friday morning dawns dark and grey, and Draco thinks that the weather has somehow attuned itself to his mood. He stands at his window and watches as the snow falls silently on the ground. He has no classes today until after lunch, and that gives him time to be leisurely in his actions this morning.

He skips breakfast, opting instead to take a long shower. When he is finished, he dresses and gathers his books, intent on heading to the library again to get some extra work done. He leaves his tower and heads toward the library, but when he reaches the hallway that leads to the library, his attention is distracted by a commotion in the corridor ahead.

"You've got to snap out of it," Ron demands, his ears turning red in his anger.

"Why don't you just leave me the hell alone?" Ginny snaps. She can feel her cheeks burning as they turn red, and she knows that her eyes are hard and unforgiving.

"I'm tired of seeing you mope around! For Merlin's sake, it was just _Malfoy!_"

"How _dare _you," Ginny seethes. Draco peeks around the corner, curious to know what's going on. He notes that Granger and Potter are not present, and that Ginny's brother seems to have cornered her alone. "You don't know anything about him, so you have no right to talk about him like that!"

"I know enough," he says, his ears red. "I remember how he's always treated us, even if _you_ don't!"

"He's different now," Ginny protests, her hands on her hips.

"He is, is he? He's different enough that he's taken what he wanted from you, and then tossed you aside when he was finished?"

Ginny's eyes narrow just before her palm connects with his left cheek. An angry red welt rises on his face in the shape of her handprint, and she is strangely satisfied by it. Her palm stings from the force of the blow.

"Go to hell, Ronald." With that, she turns and walks down the corridor in the opposite direction. Draco watches as Ron touches a hand to the stricken cheek, then mutters something under his breath before disappearing into the library.

Draco finds that no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to make his feet move. He wants to follow her and ask her why she's taking up for him when they're not together anymore. He thinks it strange that he almost sympathizes with her brother; he has experienced her wrath first hand, and he wouldn't wish it on anyone (except maybe Potter).

His hand is gripping the corner so tightly that his knuckles are white. He is confused, and he is hurting. His head is reeling from what he's witnessed, and he isn't sure what to make of it. When he finally pries himself away from the wall, he heads down the corridor in the same direction that she went.

His expensive shoes clack against the floor, echoing through the empty hallway as he walks. He doesn't know where she went, but at times he can catch the slightest whiff of her perfume, and he knows that he's heading in the right direction somehow. He follows the scent until he turns the corner and finds himself standing face to face with her.

They stare at each other silently, and he notices that her cheeks are damp. She has obviously been crying, and he guesses that it's because of her fight with her brother. Her lower lip is trembling, and the hand that's clutching the strap of her bookbag is shaking.

"What are you doing here?" she asks quietly.

"I don't know," he admits, frowning. Why _did_ he follow her? He hadn't intended to meet her and speak to her, he knows that. "And why should I have to explain it to you, anyway?"

"You don't," she says, her expression closing off again. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to get to class." She starts to move past him, but his hand shoots out and grabs her arm, spinning her around to face him.

"Who do you think you are, dismissing me like this?" he asks angrily. "I've done nothing wrong to you to make you treat me this way."

"Treat you what way?" she asks, trying to shake her arm free of his grasp. "Now let me go! I have to get to potions, and I don't exactly fancy Snape's detentions!"

"I'll let you go when I'm damn good and ready!" Without warning, he bends and presses his mouth roughly to hers. She begins to struggle almost immediately, but her heart is not into her fight, and she gradually melts in his arms.

The moment that she relaxes, he feels it. He revels in it. Her hands are around his neck, pulling him closer. His tongue is plundering her mouth, claiming her as his. His head is spinning as he touches her; one hand is on the small of her back, and the other hand is clutching the back of her head, holding her to him.

"Is there a reason that you see fit to keep my pupil from her class, Mister Malfoy?" a soft voice asks. Draco and Ginny jump apart, and they are both equally horrified to see Snape in front of them.

"I'm sorry, sir," Draco says quickly, stepping in front of Ginny. "I forced her."

"You most certainly did _not_," she snaps, pushing him out of the way. Snape watches the exchange with detached interest.

"Would you shut up?" he hisses, his eyes narrowing. "Don't give him an excuse to-"

"I do _not_ need you to protect me, Draco Malfoy! I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!"

"As interesting as this is," Snape murmurs silkily. "I believe that both of you are late for class. Twenty points from Gryffindor, and get going, before I decide to take more."

Ginny shoots a glare at Draco before grabbing her bag and taking off in the direction of the potions classroom. When she has disappeared from sight, Snape arches an eyebrow at Draco.

"Have you joined Gryffindor house, Mister Malfoy?"

"Absolutely not, Sir," Draco says, sneering slighty. "That's preposterous."

"Is it?" Snape asks, sounding interested. "I don't think it's as outrageous as you seem to think. After all, you've just tried to sacrifice yourself for your girlfriend."

"She's _not_ my girlfriend," Draco says hotly. Snape doesn't answer, and leaves with his robes billowing behind him. Draco heads back to his room, deciding to skive off his Transfiguration class in order to get ready for their tutoring session later on in the evening.


	12. Chapter 12

Her stomach flutters nervously all through potions, and all she can do is frown. She doesn't know what to make of what's happened, and what's more, she isn't sure that there's even anything _to_ make of it.

Perhaps he misses her. Maybe he just needed a snog. Maybe he's just lonely, like she is. She doesn't know, and she's not sure that she wants to ask, either.

Her eyes remain focused on Snape, even though she's not really seeing him. She can't bloody well concentrate on anything, and it's all Draco's fault! She doesn't take adequate notes and when she tries to mix her potion, she adds too much boomslang skin.

She knows that she needs to concentrate on her class, but she can't very well do that with images of Draco assaulting her every time she closes her eyes! As she's leaving the classroom, the strap on her bookbag rips, and her books and parchments scatter across the floor of the hallway.

With nothing else to lose, she begins to cry silently in frustration. All of the other students have gone to lunch, and she is in the hallway alone. She gathers her things and shoves them into her bag, not caring if her parchments and miscellaneous items are preserved or not – she just wants to get out of the dungeon.

Maybe if she leaves the dungeon, she won't think so much about _him._

She heads toward Gryffindor Tower, intent on skiving off her last two classes of the day. Her broken bag is clutched to her heaving chest as she moves, and she looks down at her feet as she walks. She doesn't want to look anyone in the eyes; to give someone the opportunity to point out that she has been crying.

When she hears Harry and Hermione coming up behind her, she groans silently. Could this day _get_ any worse? When Hermione falls into step beside her, she realizes that she shouldn't have pressed her luck by wondering that.

"Hey, Ginny," Hermione says, her voice bright and bubbly. "Are you coming to lunch with us?"

Ginny smirks to herself. Apparently they haven't spoken to Ron yet.

"No, thanks." She knows that she sounds detached and uninterested, but she can't help it. What's the use in pretending that she wants their company right now? There's only one person she wants to be around, and he's sending mixed signals as to whether or not he wants to see her, too.

"We'd like it if you did," Harry adds. Ginny stops mid-step and turns to look at him. As usual, his hands are shoved into his pockets, and his hair is mussed up. She finds herself wondering why she ever thought it was attractive in the first place, and if Hermione is drawn to him for the same reasons that she used to be.

"Really?" she asks flatly. Harry blinks and shoots a sideways glance at Hermione. "Because none of you seemed to care so much about me before you found out that I was spending time with Draco."

"Ginny, we just wanted you to eat with us," Hermione says, holding her hands up in surrender. Ginny frowns at this. Her mannerisms are blending with those of her brother and Harry, and she's beginning to think that they're spending too much time together. In her mind's eye, the lines between them always blur, and sometimes she even sees them as one entity instead of three. "We didn't want to start a fight."

"I don't want to eat with you," Ginny replies.

"Why not?" Harry asks quietly. "Is it because of him?"

"No, it isn't," Ginny snaps, exasperated. "Why is everyone set on annoying me today? Not everything that's wrong has to do with Draco." She isn't sure that that's true, though. Everything that's wrong with her right now can be traced directly back to the blonde – though everything that's been right with her in the last month can be traced directly back to him, as well.

"Has he been hassling you?" Hermione asks, her face reflecting the concern in her voice. It's more than Ginny can take, and she opens her mouth to shout. She is surprised when her voice is replaced by a cold drawl.

"No one's been hassling her," Draco says, walking up behind Ginny. Harry's expression goes cold before it closes off completely, and Hermione just clamps her mouth shut. "Was there something you wanted to talk to _me_ about?"

Ginny marvels at how pleasant his tone is, until she realizes seconds later that he's laughing at both of them. Their discomfort amuses him, and for some reason, it lifts her own mood. She feels naughty, and she wants them to leave her alone. The only sure way to do that is standing directly behind her.

She turns and savors the surprised look that passes across Draco's features as she drops her bag and wraps her arms around his neck. "Oh, Draco," she purrs, enjoying his uncertainty as much as theirs. "I never got to thank you for this morning."

"No thanks necessary," he says quickly, glancing at Harry and Hermione. They are too stunned to move.

"Oh, but I _have_ to thank you," she insists. "I was thinking about you all through potions because of it." Without waiting for his response, she pulls him down and presses a kiss to his closed lips. He doesn't yield, which makes disappointment and relief pool in her stomach at once. She pulls away and picks up her bag, then turns and heads toward the tower without looking back.

* * *

_14 January_

_Why does everyone insist on tormenting me? I know I'm being dramatic, but they really are! This morning Draco kissed me after an argument, and Snape caught us. I'm glad I didn't get detention, but it still cost points, and I'd be willing to bet that Draco didn't lose any. Then again, since he really doesn't have a house to speak of anymore, I don't suppose it would matter if he did._

_I couldn't concentrate in class because of that stupid kiss. And what did it mean, anyway? Anything? Nothing? I don't know. It feels like we're playing games with each other. And I took my turn just now._

_I ran into Harry and Hermione in the hall and really didn't feel like dealing with them. Surprise, surprise, Draco magically appears behind me to defend me for the second time today! What on earth is going on with us? And now that I've kissed him, I still have to see him tonight for tutoring. I don't know how I'm going to handle that… and worse yet, I don't know how he will, either._

* * *

She enters the study room with no small amount of trepidation, and sits down at the table. He is already there, sitting with his elbows on the table and his hands clasped in front of his mouth. She pulls out all of her study materials and places them on the table top without looking at him.

She pulls out her quill and the essay she's been working on, and begins to write. "What are you doing?" he asks quietly.

"I'm working on my essay," she says, frowning down at her parchment. "What does it _look_ like I'm doing?"

"I didn't mean right now," he says, shaking his head and letting his arms drop to the table. She glances up at him.

"What do you mean?"

"What was that little show for the Wonder Twits earlier today?"

"Why do you care?" she asks. "It pissed Harry off, and it made Hermione uncomfortable. Isn't that what you're all about?"

"I don't like being used," he says angrily.

"Seemed like you liked it to me," she replies loftily, looking back down at her paper.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Look," she says, putting her quill down. "I've already tried talking to Dumbledore about this, and he says that we're stuck with each other until the end of the year, when you graduate, so we'd better get used to it and make the best of it."

"I don't-" he pauses for a moment. "Hang on a tic – you tried to get rid of me?"

"I don't look at it as getting rid of you, so much as releasing you," she explains, shrugging.

"Releasing me?" he snorts. "More like releasing yourself."

"Why are you trying to turn this on me?" she demands. "I haven't done anything wrong!"

"You snogged me in front of Potter and Granger just to piss them off!" he yells, his normally pale skin turning pink.

"So?" she asks, gesturing with her hands. "You never cared about pissing them off before!"

"I told you, I don't like being used!"

She stares at him for a moment, then deflates. "What do you want from me, Draco? An apology?"

"I don't want an apology," he says, running his fingers through his hair.

"What _do_ you want? Because I have an essay to write."

"I want us to be friends again," he blurts. She stares at him in silence for so long that he's sure she's going to just get up and leave, or that she's going to remain silent until he decides to leave.

"You want us to be friends again," she echoes in disbelief.

"Yes. I'm tired of fighting with you."

"We've only had two fights."

"In one day."

"It's still minimal, given the time that we've been close," she says.

"If you're counting the entire time we've been close, then we've had four fights."

"We have not."

"We have."

"When?"

"When we were in your room, when you left me, this morning, and now," he says, counting them off on his fingers as he speaks.

"When I _left _you?" she asks, her eyebrows raised. "You mean when you _told_ me to leave."

"Damn it!" he says, slapping the table with his palm. "You're not making this easy for me! It's not like I'm asking you to do something deplorable – I just want to be friends again!"

"Why?"

"Because I miss you."

"You do?" she asks, her voice manifesting her surprise. He nods slowly. "Oh."

"So can we stop fighting and just be friends again?"

"We can be friends if you can explain what happened in the hallway this morning," she says softly.

His eyes widen. How can he explain that? How can he tell her that his mind refuses to think of anything else but her; that he even dreams about kissing her and touching her? "I just got mad, and it was the only way I knew to shut you up." It is not a lie, but it's not exactly the truth, either.

"I see."

"Are we all right now?"

"Sure," she says, shrugging.

"I need a gesture of goodwill to prove that we're really going to be friends," he says, arching an eyebrow. She gives him a cautious look.

"Like what?"

Less than a half an hour later, they are outside in the snow, mounting brooms. She watches as he kicks off, and wonders how she's going to manage pretending to be his friend, when she knows that she wants more than that. She pushes off with her feet and soars into the air, squinting her eyes against the biting wind. He pulls up beside her and hovers, and she gives him a wry smile. She remembers the last time they did this, and she wonders if he remembers it, too.

"It's really cold," she says, pulling her cloak tight around her shoulders.

"Too cold for you?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Fine," he says. For a moment, she thinks that he is angry and that he is going to give up on the friend idea. That thought disappears when he holds his arms out to her. "Get on with me, then."

"What?" she laughs. "And what would I do with my broom?"

"Let it fall," he says, shrugging.

"You're serious," she realizes out loud.

"Of course I am. Hop on." The outstretched arms are too tempting, and in the end she climbs onto his broom. His arms go around her, and instantly she is warm. They watch as her broom plummets to the grass below, and then he takes off.

"Where are we going?" she calls back to him.

"Where do you want to go?" Her hair whips around his face as they fly, and his nostrils are assaulted by the familiar smell of her shampoo. He closes his eyes as he inhales deeply, and suddenly he knows where he wants to take her.

"We're going to your tower?" she asks, surprised to see that they're nearing his tower.

"We don't have to," he says. "I just thought we could sit on the roof and talk."

"The roof?" she asks uncertainly.

"If you don't want to-"

"No, that's fine," she says quickly. Silence reigns as they pull up to his tower and step off onto the top of the tower. He places the broom behind him so it won't roll away.

"So," he begins, glancing at her. "How are things going?"

"What's next, the weather?" she asks acidly.

"Hey, I'm just trying to start conversation here."

"Fine. Everything's fine."

"Okay," he says, frowning. "Now why don't you tell me how you _really_ are." She sighs at this, and rests her cheek on her hand.

"For the most part, everything's just like it's always been," she says, shrugging.

"And how's that?"

"Not good, not bad."

"For the most part?" he asks, his brow furrowing. "What's changed?"

"It's just-" she pauses, wondering if she should tell him what she's been thinking about. She decides that he probably knows her frustration, so why shouldn't she tell him? "It's just that Harry, Hermione, and Ron are really getting to me lately. More than they used to, I mean."

"How so?" he asks neutrally, moving to lie on his back. He folds his arms beneath his head and stares up at the sky.

"I used to be able to stomach being around them. I could block them out and ignore them when the three of them were together, but lately… well, I can't even bring myself to look at Harry and Hermione half the time, and it's getting worse with Ron, too. I don't want to lose my brother because of them."

"You're close with him, aren't you?" he observes. She shrugs.

"I _used_ to be."

"Is this rift because of them seeing us in Hogsmeade together?"

"I think that's only a little bit of it," she admits. "I think just the general idea of us being together in _any_ way really scares them."

"Why, do they think I'm going to corrupt you, or something?"

"Haven't you already?" she asks, her eyes dancing. He grins at her amused tone.

"Well, then logically they have nothing to fear. I've already done the deed, so they can relax now. Although I think you're giving me far too much credit; I think you were already corrupted by your brothers the pranksters."

She laughs at this. "I think you're right," she says, mimicking his position and lying on her back beside him. Their elbows are touching, and she finds that even though it sends desire spiking through her veins, it is also comforting. "So how are things going with you? Are you and Blaise getting along again?"

"Sort of," he says quietly. "He keeps trying to convince me to do things with him and his pet Hufflepuff, but I don't fancy being a third wheel."

"His pet Hufflepuff?" she echoes, giggling. "I think I like that."

"Fine, then you can be my pet Gryffindor."

"Are you my pet Slytherin?" she teases.

"I don't know _what_ I am anymore," he says, frowning. She blinks. "I'm the only one in the entire school who still wears Slytherin robes. Zabini wears Gryffindor, Bulstrode wears Hufflepuff, and Davis wears Ravenclaw. I'm the only Slytherin left."

"That can make a guy lonely," she says softly. "Maybe Dumbledore would allow some students to switch houses to sort of rebuild Slytherin house."

"I don't think so," he says, shaking his head. "Not that it really matters, because I like my tower better than I ever liked the dungeon. Besides, I don't really mind wearing the Slytherin crest; I'd just like to know _why_ he hasn't seen fit to reintegrate me somewhere else."

"I don't think you belong with any of the other houses," she says.

"Why not?"

"You were Slytherin for a reason, Draco. Even if you have elements from the other houses, I still think that you're the embodiment of what Slytherin stands for."

"Yeah?" he asks, turning his head to look at her. Her eyes are warm and inviting, and for a moment, he is overcome with the urge to hold her.

"You're special," she says, nodding. "Unique, I mean. Don't try to blend, because it won't work. You're meant to stand out wherever you go."


	13. Chapter 13

Saturday morning brings with it a feeling of longing. She isn't sure what she's longing for, but she's sure it has to do with him. It always has to do with him. When she finally pulls herself out of bed, she sees that it is past time for breakfast. All of the other girls who share her room are gone; it is a Hogsmeade day, and she's sure that they've gone.

She takes a shower and dresses, then decides to take a walk. For some reason this morning, the tower feels stifling. She strolls slowly through the corridors, nodding when the portraits greet her.

She makes her way down to the hall where the entrance to the Slytherin common room is, and she heads towards the entrance. When she gets there, she is surprised to find the tapestry pulled aside, and the door to Slytherin house wide open. Curious, she ducks inside, and finds herself in the common room. A blazing fire is in the fireplace, and it casts an eerie light on the otherwise darkened room.

"I thought you'd be in Hogsmeade today," a soft voice drawls. She jumps in surprise.

"Where are you?"

"On the sofa." She moves around and finds him lying stretched out on his back, taking up the entire sofa. She picks his feet up and sits down, then places his feet on her lap.

"Fancy meeting you here."

"Indeed," he says quietly. "Why are you down here and not in Hogsmeade?"

"Are you kidding? And hang out with _them_ all ruddy day? No thanks," she says, wrinkling her nose in distaste. He grins.

"All right, point taken. But why are you down in the dungeons?"

"I went for a walk. Besides, I've been trying to break into this place for months," she admits, looking around. "I've always been curious about what it looks like."

"Now you know," he murmurs, glancing around. "Are you less than impressed?"

"I'm a little disappointed," she admits. "No house elf heads hanging on the walls, no evil plots posted on bulletin boards." He laughs at this.

"Is that really what people thought of us?"

"I may be exaggerating a bit," she says, smiling. She begins to rub his shoeless feet without thinking about it, and she doesn't notice when he sucks in a sharp breath. "But I am wondering where all the telltale signs of evil are hiding."

"We took them in during the day," he manages. He struggles not to touch her; her fingers lightly massaging his feet is strangely erotic.

"Hey, come to think of it," she says, looking at him. "Why aren't _you_ in Hogsmeade?"

"Please. I get enough people staring at me as it is. Besides, Zabini and his pet would have been there, and as you recall, I detest being a third wheel."

"Aw, and here I thought it was just because you wanted to spend time with me," she pouts playfully. He laughs again. How is it that she can lift his spirits at times when he feels so confused?

"Of course," he agrees. "You're the only person in this pit worth spending time with, anyway."

"You know, I might find that more flattering if we weren't the only two people _in_ the pit right now," she points out.

"Smartass," he says.

"Don't I know it."

"So you couldn't stomach the terrific trio. Welcome to my world. What else do you have on the agenda today?"

"Sleep, if I can," she says.

"You are entirely boring without me around, do you realize that?"

"And I suppose you have a better idea – one that involves you?"

"Not really. Why don't we just sit here for a moment – something will come to me eventually."

She laughs. "Why don't you start with a tour?" she suggests. "Show me around Slytherin."

"All right," he agrees, standing up. He extends his hand to her and helps her off of the sofa, then turns toward a hallway. "Down here are the dormitories. To the right are the girls', and to the left are the boy's rooms."

"That's it? Aren't you going to take me inside one of them?"

"They're much like your own rooms," he shrugs, leading her in the direction of his old room. "I doubt you'll be impressed." He opens a door and she moves past him into the room. The bedroom looks as though it's simply waiting to welcome the students home – everything is clean and smells like fresh laundry. She thinks it's an odd combination; the scent of freshly laundered sheets and the dungeon setting.

"Was this your room?" she asks, turning to face him. He nods and indicates the bed nearest the door.

"That was my bed."

He watches as she sits down on it and bounces several times. "Your mattress is softer than mine," she comments. "Did you get to pick your bed?"

"Of course," he says, as though it is the most natural thing in the world. "I made Crabbe and Goyle take the beds over there, too, since they snored so loudly."

"Imagine that – you dictating to people where they should sleep," she teases. He grins.

"Well, you know me. I always get what I want." He frowns at this statement; it doesn't ring true anymore. After all, he wants her, and he doesn't have her. "At least, I _used_ to."

"Don't you still?" she asks, lying back on his bed. He sighs. He wonders if she realizes how much pressure she is putting on him, lying on his old bed, stretched out like that.

"Sometimes."

"So," she says, glancing around at the other beds. "Did you make them leave when you snuck Pansy in?"

"Parkinson?" he coughs, almost choking on the name. "How do you know I snuck her in?"

"Please," she giggles. "Everyone knew about the two of you."

"Oh," he says flatly. For some reason, he doesn't like the idea of Ginny knowing about his past girlfriend. "Yes, I made them all leave, so I suppose it really wasn't _sneaking_ her in."

"I guess not," she says, sitting up again.

"Did you sneak that Ravenclaw into your room?" he asks, sitting next to her on the edge of the bed. Her cheeks turn scarlet.

"No, I didn't."

"Did he sneak you into his room?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I never really wanted to take the relationship to that place," she says, shrugging. She stares down at the floor when she says this.

"Why? Was he hideously deformed, or something?"

"I hope not," she says, pulling a face at him. He grins. "I just didn't have enough feeling toward him to share a bed with him."

This strikes a chord in him. It is as good as an admission that she slept with him because she cared about him, even if she hasn't said it in so many words.

"And what about Thomas? I'm sure you had no trouble getting him into your room."

"Why are we even talking about this?" she asks, laughing.

"You brought it up, remember? If I'm forced to relive my horrible relationship with Parkinson, you have to relive your past relationships, too."

"That's not fair, though," she protests. "You only had one, and you're bringing up two of mine!"

"Good Gods, are you saying that there's _more?_"

"What if there was?"

"I was just asking."

"No, Dean never shared my bed, either. It wasn't for lack of trying, though. He managed to sneak into my room one night when everyone else was down in the common room, but I kicked him out."

He feels dizzy. If she never slept with either of those boys, then who _had_ she slept with before him? He doesn't remember feeling any resistance their first night together, which would indicate that she'd been with a man before him.

Wouldn't it?

He wonders if there's a delicate way to ask her, and decides that there's not. "Why such interest?" she asks.

"I was just curious," he says.

"You're not telling me something," she accuses. "Whatever it is, you know you can tell me. It's all right."

He takes a deep breath. "I was just wondering who you slept with before me." She stares at him for a moment, then looks down at her hands in her lap.

"There wasn't anyone before you."

"How is that possible?" he asks, reeling from the revelation. He was her first?

"Let me guess, you're wondering why you didn't feel anything, or why there wasn't much pain for me?"

"_Much_ pain?" he repeats, frowning. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she says quickly, shaking her head. "I didn't mean that! You didn't hurt me. You didn't feel anything because Charlie let me ride one of his dragons last summer, and when I fell off…" she lets her voice trail off, too embarrassed to finish the explanation. He understands, and nods.

"Oh. Why didn't you tell me, then? I wouldn't have tried anything if-"

"I know my own mind, Draco," she admonishes firmly, cutting his protests off. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to think that I was a fragile little girl who wasn't ready for it. I was ready, and I wanted to, so let's just forget about that, all right?"

"Why would you want to sleep with me, when you barely knew me, and you'd hated me for so long?" he asks curiously.

"Do we _really_ have to do this?"

"Do what?"

"Dissect what happened?"

"I'm not trying to dissect it, Ginny. I'm just trying to understand it."

"Fine," she sighs, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I wanted to because I had feelings for you, and they weren't like the feelings I had for Dean or Michael, or even for Harry."

This surprises him, and he isn't sure what to say. Suddenly her words sink in, and he frowns at her.

"You _had_ feelings for me? As in, past tense?"

"What?" she asks, surprised.

"You just said that you slept with me because you _had_ feelings for me. Does that mean that you don't now?"

"Draco," she sighs, rolling her eyes. The thrill is still there when she speaks his name, and he is beginning to believe that it will never go away. "What does it matter? We're friends now, remember?"

"Do you or do you not have feelings for me?" he demands.

"You're like a spoilt child, do you know that?"

"Answer the question."

"No."

"No, you don't have feelings for me, or no, you won't answer the question?"

"No, as in I won't answer the question. I shouldn't have to!"

"I want to know."

"What about you?" she demands, turning his own question on him. "Do you still have feelings for me?"

"I _told_ you how I felt, remember?" he points out. Her cheeks turn pink, but she doesn't look away.

"And? Feelings like that can fade or change."

"Like hell they can," he protests angrily.

"Are you saying that you still-?" She can't bring herself to say it, though her heart has jumped into her throat at the thought.

"What, that I still _love_ you?" he asks, stressing the word. She looks down at her hands in her lap again, and this makes him mad. "What is it about that word that scares you so much?"

"It doesn't scare me," she says hotly, looking back up at him. "And you didn't answer the question."

"Well neither did you!"

"Merlin," she mutters, rubbing her eyes. "Why are we sitting here fighting about this? We're just friends, right? Since when do friends fight over this sort of thing?"

"You just don't want to tell me," he accuses, rising to his feet.

"Maybe I don't," she agrees, standing up as well. "Let's talk about something else. Are you hungry?"

"Don't try to change the subject on me just to avoid telling the truth," he says, fighting a smile. "That's very Slytherin of you, and since I'm the only Slytherin here, it's my job."

"But technically we're both _in_ Slytherin right now," she says, following him down the hallway.

"Technicalities," he says, shaking his head. "And here I thought that I was the only one who paid attention to those."

"Are you hungry, or not?" She follows him out into the common room, where he slips his shoes back on.

"A little. Why, didn't you eat breakfast?"

"No. I didn't feel like going down there with Hermione." He turns and eyes her for a moment, and then a grin cracks his face.

"You didn't get up in time, more like."

She blushes and shrugs. "Fine, so I didn't get up in time for breakfast," she admits, following him out into the corridor. "Do you want to sneak something from the kitchens?"

"As long as I get to tickle the pear."


	14. Chapter 14

After they've finished eating, they automatically head back to his tower. He wonders if she realizes where she's going, or if she's just focused on the story she's telling him with such emotion. When they are almost at their destination, she is distracted by footsteps behind them.

A moment later, Hermione rounds the corner. She stops when she sees Ginny and Draco standing so closely together, and just stares at them. Draco folds his arms across his chest and shoots an annoyed look at her.

"Was there something you wanted, Granger?"

Hermione shifts nervously where she stands, moving her weight from one foot to another. "I want to talk to Ginny."

"Is something wrong?" Ginny asks, frowning. "Why are you back from Hogsmeade so soon?"

"I didn't go to Hogsmeade today," Hermione explains, her eyes focused on Ginny. "Neither did Ron or Harry. We've been in the library all morning."

"Fancy that," Draco says pleasantly to Ginny. "Your brother and Potter in the same room as a bunch of _books_." Ginny stifles a giggle and rolls her eyes at him.

"So what's wrong?"

"Nothing, they just wanted to talk to you."

"So you're their messenger now?" Ginny asks, her voice full of disbelief. "If they wanted me, why couldn't they come and get me themselves?"

"Well, Harry didn't want to see Malfoy, and you know Ron's temper…" she lets her voice trail off and shrugs.

"So you came because the sight of me doesn't make you want to wring my neck?" Draco asks, amused.

"I didn't say that," she says darkly. "I just have enough self control that I won't actually do it."

"Self control?" he asks, arching an eyebrow. "Yes, you showed spiffing self control in our third year. Smashing effort. Potter himself couldn't have done better."

"Look, are you going to come, or not?" Hermione asks Ginny, clearly becoming frustrated.

"No, I'm not," Ginny says, shaking her head. "Draco and I-"

"Do you really think that this is healthy for either of you?" Hermione blurts suddenly. "Are you just doing it to make Ron and Harry mad?"

"And people think _I'm_ egotistical," Draco sighs. "Granger, not everything we do is about Potter and his bumbling sidekick. His sister is a big girl and she can handle herself, got it?"

"Draco and I are friends, Hermione. You're all going to have to get used to that."

"Fine," Hermione says, her shoulders slumping in defeat. "But don't be surprised if they come looking for you later."

"Thanks for the warning," Draco says flippantly, turning his back to her and walking away. Ginny turns and follows him, still close by his side. Hermione watches their retreating backs with a strange feeling pooled in the pit of her stomach.

She's never seen Malfoy stand up for anyone other than himself, and it's strange to see him sticking up for Ginny. Even stranger to her is the thought that he might actually _care_ about Ginny. She hasn't ever thought that Malfoy was capable of caring about anyone other than himself, and the thought that he might rocks the foundation of her carefully constructed world.

She turns and heads back to the library, hurrying as fast as her legs can carry her. When she reaches it, she twists and turns, making her way back to the furthermost corner, where Harry and Ron are seated. When Ron looks up and doesn't see Ginny, his face pales.

"Where is she?"

"She's not coming," she says calmly, sitting down beside Harry.

"Why not?" Ron demands.

"She was with Malfoy when I found her," she explains softly, not wanting Madam Pince to overhear her. "They looked like they were heading to his room."

"Not a good thing to say right now, Hermione," Harry admonishes quietly, taking in the purple of Ron's ears. Hermione's cheeks turn red.

"Sorry."

"Do you think they're going to-?" Ron can't bring himself to voice the rest of his question.

"Ginny said that they were friends," she says quickly. "She didn't say anything else. They weren't touching, or anything." Ron relaxes slightly at this.

"What did Malfoy say?" Harry asks curiously. "When she said that they were friends, I mean."

"He didn't say anything, but he looked very protective of her," she says, frowning thoughtfully. "You know, if I didn't think it wasn't possible, I would almost say that he cares about her."

"What?" Ron squeaks.

"You really think so?" Harry asks softly. Hermione nods, and when she looks at him, she can tell that he's thinking the same thing she thought in the hallway.

"Ron, I'm sure they're fine," Hermione reassures him, patting his hand across the table. "They weren't touching, and they didn't even act like they wanted to."

"But he _has,"_ Ron says, his face turning green. "I saw her knickers on his floor during the holiday!"

"We know that she was sleeping there," Harry confirms, nodding. "We all saw the map with their names on it, but that doesn't mean that they were doing anything. We don't know what happened, Ron. She could have used his bathroom to shower, and dropped them when she was carrying clothes in there."

"You really think that's what happened?" Ron asks. Hermione nods quickly.

"Sure, Ron. It's possible."

"But _you_ don't believe it," he says miserably.

"What if she truly cares about him?" Hermione asks no one in particular. "Maybe she's seen something in him that we just can't see."

"Do you think that he's changed?" Harry asks, watching her brow furrow in deep thought.

"Maybe he's not the one who's changed," she muses aloud. "Maybe Ginny is the one who changed."

"Changed how?" Ron asks.

"She hasn't exactly been herself lately," Hermione observes. "Maybe something happened over the break that we don't know about, and it led to them being friends. She seems awfully close to him now, whatever the case."

"Do you think he cares about her?" Harry asks, his liquid green eyes focused on her.

"I think it's very possible," she says uncomfortably. "He stepped in front of her when I got there, like he thought I might do something to her. Why would he put himself in harm's way for her if he _didn't_ care?"

"That thing in the hallway yesterday," Harry begins. "Do you think it was just an act?"

"I don't know," Hermione admits. "He looked uncomfortable, didn't he?"

"Does he _ever_ look uncomfortable?" Harry remarks, pulling a face at her. She smiles and shakes her head. Ron has been eerily quiet for a few moments now, and that worries her.

"Ron? Are you all right?"

"If she likes him," he says, staring at the tabletop. "Does that mean I have to be nice to him?"

"I don't know that you have to be nice to him," she says reasonably. "But it wouldn't hurt things if you didn't try to pick fights with him anymore. That goes for you, too, Harry."

"I can't promise anything," he says, holding his hands up. "He usually starts the stuff with me, remember?"

"But he hasn't since he's been back, and he has had a lot of opportunity. He hasn't so much as given you a dirty look."

"That's only because he hasn't looked at me, period."

"Blaise and Susan are with him a lot now," Ron points out. "They don't hang out with us as much since he got back."

"He's been gone for a while, Ron. He and Blaise were practically raised together, don't you remember him telling us that? I imagine that a friendship like that is hard to let go of."

"I reckon," Ron says grudgingly.

"Look," Harry says, standing up. "It's still early. Why don't we go ahead and go to Hogsmeade, and get some lunch? My treat."

"That sounds like a fabulous idea, Harry," Hermione says, relieved to have the subject changed. She stands and holds her hand out to Ron. "Are you coming with us?"

When Ron slips his hand into hers, she smiles brilliantly at him. "Are you kidding? A free meal? I'm there."

* * *

Ginny shuts the door to his room behind her as she steps across the threshold. Draco kicks his shoes off and stretches out on his bed, folding his arms beneath his head. He is surprised when Ginny removes her own shoes and stretches out beside him on the bed. She rolls onto her right side to face him, and tucks her hands beneath her cheek.

"Why is it so hard for people to leave us alone?"

"They're jealous," he says simply. "After all, not everyone can have their own pet Gryffindor."

She laughs and rolls her eyes. "Are we so difficult to understand?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just the fact of us. The idea that we could be something other than enemies. People change, don't they realize that?"

"I don't think they _care,_ pet. That's just the thing. They don't want to know."

"I guess you're right," she concedes.

"When am I ever _not_ right?"

"No need to get superior on me," she says, smiling. He stares up at the ceiling, and she realizes for the first time that since they left the hallway, he hasn't made eye contact with her. "Are you upset with me?"

"What? No. Why would I be upset with you?"

"You haven't looked at me once since we ran into Hermione."

"Oh," he says, his heart beating rapidly. "Oh, well, I'm not doing it on purpose," he lies.

"You're a terrible liar," she says softly.

"I didn't used to be," he comments dryly.

"What did I do?"

"You haven't done anything."

"Then why won't you look at me?"

"It's just – sometimes I find it difficult."

"Why?"

"Because I'm still attracted to you." She turns this over in her mind. He hasn't said that he still loves her, but he hasn't said that he doesn't have feelings for her anymore, either.

"And that makes it hard to look at me?"

"When you're lying beside me on my bed, yes."

"Why?"

"Because – do I _really_ have to explain this to you?" he asks, exasperated. He glances at her, and finds that he can't tug his eyes away from her face. He rolls onto his left side and props his head up on his hand. "Why are you on my bed, anyway? Doesn't it make you uncomfortable, knowing what we did here?"

"No," she says, her eyes locking on his. "I'm not uncomfortable in the slightest."

"We really surprised a lot of people, didn't we?" he murmurs, changing the subject abruptly.

"I think we did."

"Cheers to us, then," he says, smirking. She smiles at him, and suddenly he feels dizzy. "Look, I think it would be a good idea if one of us got up."

"Why?"

"Is that your word _du jour?_" he asks, slightly irritated. "Because I told you, I'm attracted to you. Being on my bed is just temptation, and I'm not so sure that I'm strong enough to withstand it."

"What would you do?"

"What? Sweet Circe, Ginny! You're not helping things along, here!"

"Draco," she says softly. He blinks. Her voice is low and it shoots through him like wildfire.

"Don't," he says, his voice cracking slightly. "I can't-" his protests die as he watches her move closer, and he is frozen to the spot. His eyes drift shut when she presses her lips gently to his. The contact is so light, it almost tickles.

When she moves her mouth to his ear, he gasps. "I don't think we should do this," he mutters, his voice indicating quite the opposite. "It's going to put a strain on our friendship."

"A little snogging isn't going to hurt anyone," she whispers, pulling away to meet his eyes. "Will it?"

"I suppose not," he says quietly, touching his fingertips to her cheek. She closes her eyes and sighs when his lips touch hers again, and she moves so that she's on her back. He moves closer to her and cups her cheek gently with his hand as he teases her lips apart with his tongue.

It doesn't take long for the kiss to change from tender and sweet to intense and demanding. Their tongues duel as his hand begins to roam down her body, caressing her arm, then her hip, and her outer thigh. Her hands are tangled in his hair, holding his face to hers.

His hand continues to roam until it reaches her breast. He kneads it gently in his palm for several moments. When he realizes what he's doing, he yanks his hand away as though he's been burnt, and he breaks the kiss.

"What's wrong?" she asks, her chest heaving as she catches her breath.

"I just- We should stop before it goes any further."

"I thought you were attracted to me," she says, confusion etched on her face.

"I am," he affirms, running a hand through his hair.

"Then what's the problem?"

"We're _friends_, Ginny. If we do this-"

"We did this before we decided to just be friends," she points out. "And we're fine now."

"Are you saying that you want to keep going?"

"I think that's what I'm getting at, yeah." He stares at her in awe for a moment. It's easy now to see why he loves her so well; she doesn't hesitate to speak her mind, and she's not afraid to be honest with him.

"And you're sure we'll be all right if we do?" he asks softly. There is nothing he wants more at this moment than to touch her; to be inside of her. He's been dreaming about it every time he manages to go to sleep, and sometimes fantasizes about it during his classes.

Her answer is to pull him back down for another kiss. She reaches for his hand and places it back on her breast, and he groans. He moves his mouth down to her neck and kisses her wildly, and when she feels him sucking on her collarbone, she smiles.

He pauses long enough to pull her shirt over her head, then begins to kiss the top of her breast. He has just pulled the fabric of her bra aside and is about to capture an already taut nipple when a knock sounds at his door.

"Ignore it," she begs in a whisper. "They'll go away." She doesn't want him to stop, so she removes her bra and puts her arms around his neck. "Please."

He bends and kisses her neck while his thumb flicks across her nipple, and she gasps. After a moment, the person at the door knocks again, louder this time. He pulls away and growls. "The school bloody well better be on fire," he mutters angrily. She manages to pull her shirt on just before he opens the door.

"Hey, Draco," Blaise says good naturedly. "Susan and I thought that maybe you might want to go to Hogsmeade with us to get some lunch."

"I'm a little busy right now," Draco says, forcing a smile.

"Come on, mate," Blaise says. "It'll help you forget about Ginny for a bit." She sits up on the bed and looks directly at him.

Draco slides a finger across his throat, then opens the door just enough so that Blaise can see Ginny sitting on the bed. She raises her hand and waggles her fingers at him, stifling a smile at his red face.

"Why don't the both of you come with us, then?" Blaise suggests. "It's on me."

Draco rubs his eyes and takes in several deep breaths before Ginny decides to speak up. "That sounds great, Blaise. Can we meet you somewhere in a few minutes? We were just in the middle of a really important conversation."

"Sure, that's fine. Why don't you guys meet us in front of the Great Hall in about ten minutes?"

"We'll be there," she promises, smiling. Blaise nods at Draco, then turns and heads down the stairs. After he closes the door, Draco turns to her with a highly amused look.

"We were in the middle of a very important conversation, were we?" He crosses to the bed and sits down next to her.

"I think it was important," she says, smiling wickedly at him. "We have enough time to finish it, if you want to."

"Less than ten minutes?" he asks, looking offended. "Why, that's hardly enough time to get a good snogging in, let alone have a deep, involved conversation."

"I suppose you're right," she sighs dejectedly.

"If you're so inclined, you might consider coming back here later on to finish our talk." He stands and waggles his eyebrows suggestively at her before his eyes fall on the white garment on his bed. He picks it up and grins lasciviously. "But just in case you don't, I'll keep this as a reminder of our talk."

"Draco, give it back! I don't have time to go get another one!" She reaches for it, but he pulls it just out of her reach before shoving it in his pocket.

"So come back and get it after we get back, if you want it so badly." She stands up and moves in front of him. When she reaches her hand down in his pocket, he sucks in a deep breath. "It's in the other pocket," he says.

"I know." She kisses him gently before pulling away and slipping her shoes on. "Are you ready? I'm sure they're waiting for us already."

Draco nods and slips his own shoes on, thinking that this feels oddly like a marriage. The two of them, meeting two friends, joking about sex. Surprisingly, the thought doesn't upset him, and that gives him something to think about.

They walk together down the stairs and head towards the Great Hall. She links her arm through his and smiles up at him, and for some reason he is stricken with the thought that this is much how she would look walking down the aisle with him. He shakes his head to clear the cobwebs that are forming, and grins back at her.

"So, is there anything I should be prepared for?"

"What do you mean?" he asks, looking puzzled.

"Do Blaise or Susan have any strange mannerisms that I should be ready for?"

"Now that you mention it, they do."

"Oh?"

"They have this annoying habit of attaching their faces to each other out of nowhere." She throws her head back and laughs at this.

"Then they have a _fun_ annoying habit."

"You are wicked," he remarks, as they round the corner and Blaise and Susan come into sight. Susan smiles and waves energetically.

"You like me wicked," she whispers. "It reminds you of you." It is his turn to laugh.

"Well, you two certainly seem to be getting along well," Susan says cheerily. "Everything all right, then?"

"We're fine," Ginny says, her smile genuine. She has always liked Susan, even though she's always thought her to be somewhat of an airhead. "Where are we going?"

They turn and head out the front doors, and Ginny watches as Blaise reaches for Susan's hand and laces his fingers through hers.

"We thought maybe the Three Broomsticks, so the boys could have some butterbeer," Susan says, turning to look at Ginny over her shoulder.

"The boys?" Ginny asks. Susan lets go of Blaise and falls into step beside Ginny, and Draco takes his cue and moves forward to walk beside Blaise. "Don't you like butterbeer?"

"I'm not overly fond of it, no." She glances sideways at Ginny for a moment, and then smiles. "Draco speaks nonstop about you, you know."

"He does?" she asks, surprised. "What does he say?"

"I don't think he knows that I've been around when he's done it, but when he's with Blaise… well, he thinks very highly of you."

Ginny looks ahead at Draco, and catches him turning to grin at her. She smiles back and her cheeks turn red before he turns back to Blaise. "I think very highly of him, too. I'm very lucky to have him."

"So, are you officially dating again?"

"We're officially friends again," Ginny says carefully.

"Do you think you'll go back to dating anytime soon?" Susan asks gently.

"I don't know that that's such a good idea."

"Why not? He adores you."

"Don't you think adore is a strong word?"

"Ginny," Susan says seriously, halting her steps. "This is _Draco Malfoy_ we're talking about, here. Have you _ever_ seen him over the moon for a girl before?"

"No," Ginny says honestly.

"Well, he is now."

"I think you might be exaggerating just the tiniest bit, don't you?" Ginny laughs.

"I don't think so," Susan disagrees, starting to walk again. "And I think you'd be passing up a golden opportunity if you decide not to date him again."

"He talks about me a lot?" Ginny asks quietly. Susan nods.

"Are you ladies quite finished discussing our demise, or shall we eat whilst you continue chatting?" Blaise asks, giving the girls an exaggerated bow. Susan smiles and rolls her eyes as she turns to Ginny.

"Someone has a flair for the dramatic." She turns and links her arm with Blaise's, and Ginny watches them enter the Three Broomsticks with the ghost of a smile on her face.

"Everything all right?" Draco asks, noting the look on her face. She nods and smiles warmly at him.

"At this moment," she says, her breath forming tiny white puffs in the wintry air, "Everything is perfect."

He grins at this. "Good to hear. Shall we go inside and eat, or would you like to stay out here for a bit longer?"

"Why would I want to do that?" she laughs. "Stay out here and freeze?"

"I just thought that perhaps you might need a reprieve from Zabini's pet."

"She's really not so bad," Ginny says decisively. He arches an eyebrow at her.

"Is that so?" He opens the door for her and guides her in with his hand lightly resting on the small of her back. Warmth floods through her, and she realizes that this is where she wants to be; this is what feels right – _him._

She is just about to sit down when she hears Draco suck in his breath with a tiny hiss. "What is it?" she asks, turning to look in the direction he's looking. Her eyes fall on Hermione, Harry, and Ron sitting at a table on the other side of the restaurant. The trio don't seem to have noticed them yet, for which she is grateful. She reaches for Draco's hand and squeezes it gently. "It's fine. Let's just sit down and have a nice lunch together."

He nods at her, and she lowers herself into the booth. When they are seated, Ginny realizes why she hasn't heard a peep out of Blaise and Susan – they are locked in a kiss. Ginny turns to Draco, her cheeks flushing slightly pink, and he smirks at her.

"Why should we let them have all the fun?" he asks, highly amused. He pats his pocket, and she feels her cheeks burn even more.

"And you said that _I_ was wicked," she remarks, sighing melodramatically. He chuckles, and the sound causes the couple to break their kiss. Susan turns pink.

"Sorry, we didn't realize you were here," she apologizes. The look on Blaise's face says otherwise, and Ginny has to bite down on her lower lip to prevent the laugh from slipping out. Draco rises and excuses himself to go to the restroom.

When his blonde friend is out of sight, Blaise turns to Ginny. "So, how are things going for you two?"

"Fine," she says, smiling faintly at him. "But it looks like things are going better for you guys." Blaise smiles at this, and Susan blushes.

"So you're getting along again, then?"

"Does he really talk that badly about me?" Ginny teases, laughing.

"I didn't mean it like that," Blaise protests, shaking his head.

"I know what you meant," she says, holding up her hand. "I think we're doing all right. There are some things that we need to work out, but on the whole, we're okay."

"That's good to hear," he says seriously. "It's about time that the two of you were happy again."

"What are you talking about?" she laughs. "We were only apart for a couple of weeks."

"I don't just mean that," he says quietly, glancing around to make sure that Draco isn't coming back yet. "I mean that you've both been through some things, and it's about time you were both happy."

"Thanks, I think," she says, trying to swallow her surprise. It is the moment when Draco returns to the table, and she smiles up at him as he sits down.

"You look happy to see me," he says teasingly. "Were they too much for you to stomach alone?"

"No," she says, laughing. Blaise chuckles.

"And who's to say that she wasn't too much for us?" he asks. Draco arches an eyebrow at his friend.

"My pet, too much for the two of you? I doubt that." Ginny revels in the thrill that passes through her at being called his pet to someone else, and she wonders if he means it because of the private joke between the two of them, or whether it is meant as an endearment.

Whatever the case, it falls unnoticed by Blaise and Susan, and lunch progresses pleasantly. Ginny can't remember the last time she felt so comfortable with anyone other than Draco, and she finds that she rather enjoys the couple's company, despite the fact that they keep giving each other puppy dog eyes. She loves the way that they constantly find little ways to touch each other; fingers brush as they reach for their drinks, hands touch knees beneath the table, he smoothes hair away from her face. It's all very romantic, even if they find it a daily occurrence.

Draco watches her watching them, and he is intrigued. She seems very enamored of them, and whether she realizes it or not, he notices that every time they touch, a tiny smile appears on her face. He wonders what she would do if he demonstrated that much affection to her in public, and then dismisses the thought.

He had come to the conclusion that she didn't want a relationship with him when she walked away from him that day, since she didn't fight him to stay. After their interlude this morning, though, he isn't sure. Perhaps she wants a private relationship; something that happens behind closed doors that no one else knows about. If that is what she wants, then that is what he's determined to give her.

He doesn't like to be kept hidden like a dirty little secret, but he doesn't want to lose her, so he will hold fast to her, whatever the cost.

When she turns and smiles at him, he responds in kind, and watches with satisfaction her look of utter surprise when his hand squeezes her upper thigh beneath the table. Her cheeks turn scarlet when his hand remains there, and Blaise starts talking.

"Why don't we make a day of it while we're here?" he suggests, draping his arm around Susan's shoulders and pulling her closer. "We could just sort of wander around the streets of Hogsmeade."

"Oh, that sounds like fun!" Susan exclaims, her eyes lighting up. She turns to Ginny. "Why don't you and I go to Gladrags? I've been wanting to get some new robes for ages now, and Blaise never wants to go!"

"I don't much fancy looking at clothes," Blaise explains, shaking his head. Ginny smiles at her fellow redhead.

"I'd love to go – that is, if Draco thinks he can survive without me," she teases. His eyes register his surprise for a split second.

"What an odd thing to say," he purrs silkily. "I'm sure I'll be quite all right being deprived of your company for a bit, since you're going to come and visit me later this evening."

"Indeed," she concedes finally, biting back the smile that threatens. He looks immensely pleased when she agrees to visit him, and warmth fills her, spreading from her head to the very tips of her toes. She scoots out of the booth and follows Susan out of the restaurant, both of them promising to meet the boys in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies in an hour. When they are finally out of sight, Draco turns to Blaise.

"How did you win Susan over?" Blaise seems caught off guard by this question, and turns it over very carefully in his mind. He hadn't realized that Draco was so insecure about Ginny, and if he admits it to himself, it unnerves him more than a little bit. Draco has never been uncertain about anything in his life, as far as Blaise can remember.

"I told her I loved her," he says without hesitation. Draco's face falls, and he wonders at it. "You've already told her, haven't you?"

"Her reaction was less than encouraging," he explains, rubbing his forehead in frustration. "It's why she left in the first place."

"I thought you said you told her to leave?" Blaise asks, confused.

"I did," Draco affirms, taking a long drink of his butterbeer. "But it was because I'd told her, and she said nothing back."

"Nothing?"

"She repeated what I said, asking me if I did, but that's about it."

"Maybe you scared her."

"The thought had occurred to me already," Draco snaps irritably. "So how do I take it back and fix it?"

"You want to take it back? Does that mean you don't love her anymore, then?"

"I do," Draco whispers, leaning across the tabletop conspiratorially. "More than I did two weeks ago, if that's possible."

"I assure you, it's possible," Blaise says, nodding. "But why do you say you want to 'fix it'? There doesn't seem to be anything wrong between the two of you."

"She agreed to be my friend," Draco says quietly. The dark-haired boy's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"You looked like a hell of a lot more than friends when I knocked on your door."

"What?" Draco asks. He hadn't thought that his friend was so astute.

"Come on, Draco," he chides, his eyes darting around the room once. "I _saw_ the two of you. Your cheeks were red, and your hair was mussed up. Plus she made an excuse for me to leave. You don't really think I'm that stupid, do you?"

"I suppose not," Draco says, shaking his head.

"You didn't look like _just friends_ to me."

"I don't feel like just friends, either," Draco admits reluctantly.

"What _do_ you feel like?"

Draco looks up and meets his friend's eyes. "I feel like this is _it_," he says candidly.

"It?"

"She's the one."

Blaise sits back, his eyes wide with the shock that he feels. He remembers Draco's oaths from just two short years ago, swearing that he would never settle down with one woman. He would never fall into the trap of monogamy as long as he lived. Now here he is, sitting in front of Blaise, and telling him that he only wants one woman.

And to top it all off, that woman is a _Weasley_, someone that Draco once hated with a burning passion. It's almost too much to handle.

"She's only a sixth year," Blaise says finally. "What will you do next year, when she's in school, and you're not?"

"I haven't said that I'm planning on anything yet," Draco lies. "I just said I think that she's the one. She's perfect for me."

"I won't disagree with that," his friend says, sitting up straight again. "So are you going to tell her how you feel?"

"I haven't exactly thought this through," Draco admits, frowning. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet."

"Well, why don't we get out of here, and then we can talk more?" Blaise suggests, shooting a glance in the direction of his fellow Gryffindors. To his chagrin, they are all staring at him. He waves and smiles, and is heartened a bit when both Hermione and Harry wave and smile back. Only Ron doesn't move, and stays sulking in the corner of their booth.

"Excellent idea," Draco says, glancing neutrally at the trio.

After the two friends are gone, Hermione turns to Ron. "See? Malfoy didn't even frown at us."

"When did you become his cheerleader?" Ron asks darkly.

"Ron," she says, exasperated. "I'm not being his cheerleader, I just think that if Ginny is going to be close with him in any capacity, we should try and look for the positive aspects of it."

"Spoken like a true optimist," Harry teases, tugging gently on one of her curls. She smiles and blushes at the contact, leaving Ron to wonder where he fits in anymore. His sister is with Malfoy, Blaise and Susan have paired off and started spending time around Malfoy, and now Harry and Hermione seem to have grown closer. Where he once felt like a cherished member of the trio, now he just feels like a third wheel.

To say that he's jealous is an understatement.

He doesn't like Harry being so close to Hermione, and vice versa. He's always been closer to Harry than she has; he's shared things with Harry that Hermione will never know about. He loves them both, and he doesn't like to entertain the thought that he may be losing them. The idea that he's losing them to each other is even more painful.


	15. Chapter 15

When the girls finally appear at the meeting point, Draco and Blaise are shivering from the cold. Susan instantly wraps her arms around her boyfriend, trying to warm him up. Ginny gives Draco a look of concern.

"Are you cold, underneath that big cloak?"

"You're late," he says, his teeth chattering. "You were supposed to be here almost thirty minutes ago."

"I'm sorry," she says. "I kept her in Gladrags longer than she meant to be there." She moves forward and opens his cloak, maneuvering her way beneath it. He arches an eyebrow at her.

"Feeling naughty, are we, pet?"

"No, I'm just trying to get you warm," she says, smiling. She turns to look at Blaise and Susan. "Are we ready to go back?"

"I think we're going to stay a bit longer," Blaise says, his arms wrapped around Susan. "We'll see you later – maybe at dinner?"

"All right," Draco agrees, nodding. "We'll see you later. Thanks for lunch."

"No problem," Blaise says, smiling at his friend before turning away with Susan beside him.

"I hope you know that I have no intentions of going to dinner with them," Draco says candidly, as they begin the trek back to Hogwarts.

"Why not?" she asks, almost tripping on his feet in an effort to stay beneath his cloak as they move.

"I've had quite enough of the goo-goo eyes to last me a lifetime, thank you very much." She laughs at this.

"They're not that bad, once you get used to them."

"Good to know someone can stomach them without wanting to vomit," he comments wryly.

As soon as they arrive back at Hogwarts, they head to his tower. He is surprised at this, but pleasantly so. He had thought that she might decide to take her leave of him until after dinner.

Once they are inside his room, she kicks off her shoes and stands in front of the blazing fire with her hands outstretched. "Why don't we ring for the house elves and have them bring us some chocolate?"

"Excellent idea – I'm actually upset that I didn't think of it first," he says, tugging the gilt rope. Minutes later, they have steaming mugs of cocoa in their hands as they sit on the rug in front of the fireplace.

"So what did you two do while Susan and I were off shopping? Any deep male bonding?"

"As if I'd tell you," he laughs.

"I'll tell you what we talked about if you tell me what you talked about," she wheedles, smiling.

"I think I'll pass, thanks. You probably only talked about girly things like clothes and makeup anyway."

"Suit yourself," she says, shrugging. They are quiet for a moment as she stares into the fire and he looks down into his mug. "Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Would it be all right if I stayed with you tonight?"

If he didn't feel the painful thumping of his heart inside his chest, he would think he'd died and gone to heaven. "Tired of Granger?"

"No," she says, giving him a somewhat shy look. "I just – I miss you."

"You do?"

"Yeah," she admits, smiling softly. Her cheeks are rosy from being so close to the heat, and it reminds him of another night when they sat close to his fire. "We spent a week together, and I've missed spending time with you since then. This is nice. Besides, it's not like we have to be somewhere tomorrow, or anything. It's Sunday."

"Won't you have to go and get clothes to change into? Pyjamas, or something?"

"I don't really feel like going back there," she says, frowning slightly. "Could I maybe borrow some of your pyjamas? Just for tonight, I mean?"

The thought of her sleeping in his clothes is erotic and sweet at the same time. He nods at her. "Sure, that's not a problem."

"Thanks," she says, visibly relieved. She drains the rest of her chocolate and pushes the mug away. "Want to play chess?"

"Sure." He gets his chess board out and sets it up. They remain locked in their game until Ginny realizes that her stomach is growling. He laughs at the noise it makes, and she gives him an embarrassed smile.

"It must be time for dinner." He glances at the clock on his desk and nods.

"You're right. Want me to go get something and bring it up here?"

"Why don't we go down there together?" she suggests, rising from the floor.

"You know," he says, pausing by the bed, where his shoes are on the floor. "I don't much fancy going to the trouble of putting my shoes on to go downstairs."

"Then don't," she says, smiling. "I'll go down in my socks if you will."

"You're on, then," he says, grinning. They make their way down to the kitchens and get a basket full of food from the house elves. When they are on their way out of the kitchen, they run into Ron, who stands in the corridor and stares openly at them.

"Ron, will you move?" Ginny asks, frowning. "We can't get by with you standing in the middle of the hallway."

Draco and Ron have locked eyes, and Ginny isn't entirely sure that she's comfortable with this, considering that Ron has inherited the same Weasley temper that she has. When he inclines his head toward Draco and moves out of the way, she is too surprised to react.

Draco escorts her back to his room with a gentle hand on her elbow, and when they are back upstairs, she turns to him. "Was he actually just civil to you?"

"Wonder of wonders, yes," he says, removing food from the basket and placing it on the floor in front of the fire.

"No whispered threats that I didn't hear? No dirty looks?"

"Nothing of the sort."

"What do you think it means?"

"I think it means that even though he may not like it, your brother is accepting your decision to be my friend."

"That's very mature, but it doesn't sound like something Ron would do."

"People change, you said it yourself," he reminds her, arranging the food just so. She sits down.

They eat in silence, as Ginny turns several things over in her mind at once. If Ron has already accepted Draco as her friend, wouldn't that predispose him to accepting Draco as something more? Did that mean that she was free to pursue a relationship with Draco, without worrying about incurring her brother's wrath?

Not that that was the reason that she hadn't revealed her feelings to Draco yet, she reasoned. No, she hadn't told him yet because she wasn't sure how he would react. She doesn't want him to think that she's just telling him because he said it first, and besides that, she is still frightened that revealing the depth of her feelings will frighten him away.

When the meal is finished and the dishes and leftover food has been cleared away, he rises from the floor and goes to his closet to find her something to wear. She watches silently, wondering if tonight he will simply hold her, or if he will allow her something more.

He rummages through his closet and finds nothing suitable for her, so he turns to his dresser and digs through a drawer. He pulls out an old t-shirt and a pair of his pyjama pants. When he turns to hand them to her, she smiles.

"Thanks," she says, taking them from him. He watches in amazement as she begins to change in front of him, and he clears his throat.

"I think maybe you'd better change in the bathroom."

"Why?" she asks, ignoring him and pulling her jeans off.

"Because of what we discussed earlier." He can feel the blood rushing away from his head as she turns to him wearing only her long-sleeved shirt and knickers, which, he notes, are scandalously low cut.

"Draco, you've seen it all before."

"And? Before when I saw it, I was touching it."

"Point taken," she says, shaking her head. She takes her clothes into the bathroom and changes, and when she emerges, he thinks that she looks almost edible in his pyjamas. "So," she says, smiling at him as she dumps her own clothes on the floor beside the bed. "What did you and Blaise do today while you were alone?"

"You're incorrigible," he laughs, pulling the covers back on his side of the bed, then climbing beneath them. She giggles and slides beneath the covers next to him. "I'm not telling you."

"Even if I beg?"

"Hm," he says, considering. "I don't know. I think I like the sound of you begging."

"You would, prat."

"Wench."

"Draco?"

"Hmm?" he asks, moving his arm to allow her room as she cuddles up next to him.

"What was it like to live with your father?" His eyes fly open in the darkness.

"What?"

"It's just that I remember all of the rumors about how he abused you, and I want to know what he was really like."

He hugs her closer for this. He has heard the rumors as well; has been hearing them since he was almost twelve years old. "I loved my father. He may have been a hard man, but he never raised a wand to me once. Not ever."

"I always suspected that there was no substance to those rumors."

"Ginny?"

"What?"

"Why did you let me kiss you earlier?"

"I didn't let you. I kissed you too, remember?"

"We never finished what we started earlier."

"Do you want to finish it now?" she asks softly. He shakes his head.

"No, I'm too tired." It is a half-truth at best; he does want to finish what they started, but he doesn't want to give up holding her in order to do it. She drapes a possessive arm over his chest and rests her cheek on his shoulder.

"Goodnight, Ferret."

"Goodnight, Weasel."

* * *

Before he opens his eyes, he is conscious of her voice. His side is cold, so he's aware that she's not lying next to him.

"He's still asleep," her soft voice carries over to him from the door to his room.

"What are you even doing up here, Ginny?" He groans silently. Why is Granger looking for him?

"It's none of your business," Ginny replies heatedly.

"Look, Dumbledore wanted me to talk to him about doing some of his old Prefect duties."

"So you wait until Sunday morning to come and talk to him?" she asks, her voice saturated with disbelief.

"I was busy," Hermione protested. "I could report the two of you, you know. Students aren't allowed to spend the night in the opposite sex's room!"

"Threats are really beneath you, Hermione," Ginny snaps. "If you're jealous, why don't you just come out and say it?"

"Jealous?" Hermione snorts. "Of Malfoy?"

"Look, we didn't do anything last night," Ginny hisses, her eyes narrowing. "So you can leave. I will give him the message that you stopped by, although it would be my guess that he won't look for you until tomorrow when he has some free time."

"Are you in love with him?" Hermione asks suddenly. Over on the bed, Draco tenses.

"Why are you asking me that?" Ginny's voice sounds tired all of a sudden.

"I just – all of us would like to know if you're happy or not. You shouldn't sneak around with him, Ginny."

"I'm not sneaking around. We've done nothing wrong by getting close to each other – if we have, then you'd be guilty of the same thing, wouldn't you?" Hermione's cheeks flush scarlet at the accusation.

"That's different. I love Harry and Ron."

"And I love Draco, so there's not a damned bit of difference." Draco sits up slowly, the sheet falling to his waist and exposing his bare chest. Hermione see him move and averts her eyes quickly.

"I'm still available, if you ever need to talk to someone," she offers weakly, turning to head towards the stairs. "Please tell Malfoy that I was here."

Ginny watches Hermione leave, her arms folded across her chest. She stands there until Hermione is out of sight and the sound of her footsteps have faded on the stairs, and then she turns around. The blood rushes away from her face when she sees Draco sitting up, staring at her.

She walks slowly to the bed and sits down, tucking her legs beneath her as she faces him. "How long have you been awake?" she asks softly, not meeting his eyes.

"Long enough." She nods slowly. "Why didn't you say anything to me, if that's how you feel?"

"I didn't know what to say," she admits. "I didn't want you to think I was saying it just because you said it."

"So you stayed silent and just let me think that you didn't care at all?"

"It wasn't like that," she protests weakly. "I just didn't know how to say it."

"It's pretty simple," he says, frowning. "You just say 'I love you.'"

"It wasn't that easy for _you,"_ she points out. "You said it on accident. How was I to know if you really meant it, or if you just said it because of the sex?"

"I told you then that I don't say things that I don't mean. Why was it so easy to tell Granger how you felt, and not me?"

"I didn't even know if you'd want to hear it anymore – with us being friends, and all."

"Sweet Salazar," he swears, shaking his head. "Don't you think that I want more than that, especially after the way we kissed yesterday?"

"What do you want from me?"

"If you really meant it, I want you to say it again – this time to my face."

"And if I can't?"

"You _can,"_ he asserts. She takes a deep breath and looks up, her eyes locking with his.

"I love you, Draco." No sooner are the words out of her mouth than she's on her back, being kissed into oblivion. His hands are everywhere, and his intense kissing makes her feel as though he's trying to consume her. She gives herself over to it and kisses him back with just as much passion.

When they finally come up for air, he pulls away just enough to caress her cheek with his hand. Their noses are still touching and their breaths are mingling. "I never thought to hear you say it, even though I hoped I would."

"I'm sorry I didn't say it when you did."

"Hearing it now makes up for it – sort of," he says wryly. "Although I would rather that we hadn't spent that time apart. You do realize that now that you've said it, I really do own you?"

She laughs at this. "But you're my pet Slytherin, remember? I own you."

"We own each other, then," he concedes, kissing the tip of her nose. "And today, we're not getting out of this bed for all the gold in Gringott's."

"Is that so?"

"Wait, I lied," he says, sitting up. He gets off of the bed and goes to his desk, then rummages through the bottom leftmost drawer. When he turns around, she blushes. His eyebrows shoot up. "You were ogling my bum, weren't you?"

"Absolutely not," she denies, the red on her cheeks deepening. He sits back down on the bed and waggles his eyebrows suggestively at her.

"It's all right if you were – you just can't help yourself." She laughs.

"You really are conceited, do you know that?" He shrugs at this.

"It's not like I don't watch your bum shake when you walk," he admits. She giggles until he holds out a black velvet box, and her expression turns sober.

"What is this?"

"This is what I did yesterday while you were babysitting Zabini's pet Hufflepuff. Go on, it won't bite. I promise."

She hesitates before lifting the lid of the box, and then she starts to shake so badly that she's afraid she might drop it. Her eyes dart up to meet his. "What is it?"

"I should think you can tell that it's a ring," he remarks, arching an eyebrow.

"Well, yes, I can see that it's a ring," she says, rolling her eyes. "But why are you giving it to me?"

"I wasn't going to give it to you," he admits. "I mean, I bought it for you, but then I had second thoughts, and I was going to return it today."

"Why?"

"I didn't think it would be appropriate to give to someone who was just a friend," he explains. "But in light of this morning's revelations – well, now I know that you should have it."

She glances back down at the ring that's glittering up at her. It is a simple gold band with a medium-sized emerald in the middle, flanked on either side by two triangle-shaped diamonds. He removes it from the box and slides it onto her left ring finger with trembling hands.

"I know that we're still young yet, and either of us could change our minds about this," he begins, still holding her hand. "But I know that right now, I love you more than anything, and I want to be with you – and I'd love it if you said you want to be with me, too."

"Is this a proposal?" she asks breathlessly.

"Not yet – it's more like a promise."

"A promise of marriage?"

"A promise that when the time comes, if we're still committed, then we will talk about marriage."

"Do you really feel that strongly about me?"

"I do," he says, nodding. "I love you, Ginny, and I'm willing to do whatever I have to in order to keep you."

"You don't have to do this, then," she says breathlessly, reaching her hand out to stroke his cheek. "I'm yours. You own me, remember?"

With this, he pulls her close and catches her lips up in several dizzying kisses. "That does it. We really _are_ staying in this bed all day. Sod the rest of the world."

She giggles. "So should I take the ring off when classes start back up?"

"Bloody hell, _no!"_ he says emphatically. "I want the entire school to know that you're taken."

"What about my brother?" she asks, her cheeks flushing with pleasure at his words.

"What about him? If you hid it from him, he'd just find out in a few months anyway."

"What? Why?" she asks, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Because I don't intend on going even a single day this summer without seeing you," he murmurs, pressing several light kisses to the side of her neck.

"What about my parents and my other brothers?"

"What of them?"

"It's entirely possible that they'll want to kill you the moment they lay eyes on you."

"And it's entirely possible that I couldn't care less," he whispers, touching his lips to her collarbone. She shivers. "So now that that's settled, tell me again how much you worship me." She snorts softly at this.

"I worship you," she breathes, as his hand drifts down to her hip. "I adore you. And I will kill you if you don't kiss me again soon."


	16. Epilogue

She boards the train home from Hogwarts with a heavy heart. Things have changed dramatically for her since the last time she was at home, and she knows that her parents are going to want to talk to her as soon as she walks in the front door. It is not a conversation that she's looking forward to.

Draco has already told her that he'll be behind her in boarding the train, but that he wants her to save room for him in the compartment she chooses. She smiles to herself as she selects the smallest compartment on the train and hoists her bags onto the shelf above her seat.

Draco has been true to his word since giving her the promise ring. He has not kept her hidden in any capacity, no matter who has asked him about her. He has even braved the Gryffindor table to sit with her, and to her surprise, no one has (to her knowledge) ever said a word to him about it.

She sits down to wait for him, and turns her head to look out of the window. She wonders how the rest of her family will react to seeing Draco at the Burrow. She doesn't doubt him any longer when he says that he'll be there sometime; he's proven to her a hundred times over that despite what people think, he is nothing less than a man of his word.

She looks up when the door to the compartment opens, and before Draco can close the door again, she has launched herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck. He chuckles and guides them both to the long seat, and wraps his arm around her shoulders as they sit down.

"Goodbyes go all right without incident, love?" he asks, resting his left ankle on his right knee. She smiles and rolls her eyes.

"Well, sort of. Millicent Bulstrode asked if we were going to get married over the summer."

"Mad cow."

"I know," she says, snuggling closer to him and resting her head on his shoulder. "But everything else went fine. You looked wonderful this morning."

"Hard to believe that graduation is over."

"It's even harder to believe that my brothers didn't hex you to hell and back when you planted that kiss on me in front of them." He laughs at this.

"I don't think that they're as opposed to the idea of us together as you like to think."

"It's strange how they've almost accepted you," she agrees.

The rest of the train ride home is mostly quiet, though there is scattered conversation throughout. She is mostly content to be within the circle of his arms, and he is more than content to hold her.

When they reach King's Cross Station, he pulls her to him for a deep, intense kiss. When they part, he is surprised to see tears welling up in her eyes. "All right there, love?"

"I just don't like the thought of having to leave you," she admits, sighing. She brushes the moisture away from her cheeks and smiles at him. "I'm so used to sneaking up to your room to sleep in your bed with you that I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to do without you."

"You have plenty of sleeping draughts, don't you?" he asks, absentmindedly playing with the back of her long hair.

"I do," she concedes, nodding. "It's just not as fun as sleeping next to you, though."

They say their goodbyes and he promises to owl at least once a week before he leaves with his Mother, and she goes home with her family. Four whole days pass with no word from him, and she begins to mope. Perhaps he's decided that she is a silly little girl after all, and he's found better things to do.

She is tossing and turning in her bed in an attempt to force her body to rest without the draught, but it doesn't seem to be working. Her brow is sweaty and her nightshirt is clinging to her skin, so she kicks off the covers. Her room has always been overly warm in the summer and too drafty in the winter, but she has never gotten used to the inconsistent temperature.

She is about to get out of bed and head downstairs for a glass of water when she hears a tapping on her window. She looks up, and to her surprise, there is a large black owl at the window. She gets up and slides the window open, and the owl drops a parchment in her lap before perching himself on the headboard of her bed.

She sees the deep crimson wax seal with a large, regal-looking _M_ pressed into it, and excitement floods through her. It must be from him.

_19 June_

_Ginny,_

_I'm not going to waste time with the usual pleasantries of asking how you're doing. Why? Because if you're doing anything like me, you're happy to be home, but you're miserable about it, too. I have missed you more in these last few days than I ever thought possible, and that's saying something._

_I'm sorry it took so long to write – as soon as I returned home, Mother whisked me away to Paris for the weekend. While we were there, I told her about you, and when we go back in two weeks, she wants you to come with us. _

_She took the news of us much better than I'd thought she would. She was definitely surprised, but that's to be expected. Who'd have ever thought it – a Weasley and a Malfoy, almost-engaged?_

_Anyway. I just wanted to write to you to let you know that I'm miserable without you, and I'm going to come and see you tomorrow, if I can get away from Mother long enough. (She doesn't want to let me go, because the last time she saw me was before Father died.)_

_I love you, and I'll see you tomorrow._

_Yours,_

_Draco_

She folds the parchment up and shoves it deep into her dresser drawer, just beneath her knickers. This is where she keeps all of her private things. Just as she has closed the drawer, something dawns on her.

Ron knew what her knickers looked like.

Her mouth drops open in horror and she can feel her cheeks start to burn as she runs back to the drawer and flings it open, then removes all of her private papers and her journal. She puts them in a small box and minimizes it, then puts it on the top shelf of her closet.

_Sneaky bastard._

She sits down at her desk and begins to write on a piece of parchment.

_19 June_

_Draco,_

_I've just realized something terribly disturbing. Remind me to tell you about the knickers and Ron when you arrive. I don't know about going to Paris (if my parents will allow it), but if I can, I'd love to. I've been to Egypt, but never France._

_I'm glad that your Mum wasn't too upset when you told her about us. My parents saw us at your graduation ceremony, so I don't need to tell them – now I just have to _explain_ it to them. They don't quite understand everything. Ron has been terrific about the whole thing and has been running interference for me so I don't have to deal with them just yet._

_I can't wait to see you. Please hurry!_

_Love,_

_Ginny_

She rolls up the parchment and hands it to the owl, who takes off immediately. After he is gone from sight, she is finally able to sleep.

The first thing she hears when she wakes up is the sound of someone's feet pounding on the floor in the hallway just outside her door. She jumps out of bed, and as soon as she reaches for the door, it swings inward, hitting her square in the nose.

"Holy Merlin!" she swears loudly, covering her already bruising nose with both hands.

"Sorry, Gin," Ron apologizes, trying his hardest not to laugh. "But I thought you'd want to know that your boyfriend is here."

"Great," she mutters, her eyes squeezing shut. "Now he gets to see me with a bloody broken nose!"

"Doesn't make too much of a difference." Ginny swings at her brother as hard as she can. When her fist makes contact with his arm and he yelps, she feels better.

"Prat."

"Do you call _all_ of the men in your life that?" She turns at the sound of Draco's warm drawl.

"Just the ones who really deserve it," she replies, giving Ron a glare. Ron rubs his arm and rolls his eyes.

"Look what you're getting yourself into," he whispers to Draco. Ginny's eyes widen as Ron turns and heads back downstairs and Draco grins after him.

"He's an alien," she pronounces finally. "He has to be. I've never seen him talk to you without making faces or saying something nasty. What have you done with my brother?" she calls down the stairs after him.

"Had him for breakfast," Ron calls back casually. Draco snorts.

"Aren't you going to invite me in and show me your room?"

"I can't believe my parents let you up here," she says, massaging her nose as she steps aside to let him in. He walks in and sits down on her bed.

"They didn't. They're not home."

"Oh. _OH!"_ she breathes, her eyes widening. "They'll kill me if they find out you're in here!"

"They won't – I'll be gone before they get back. Would you please uncover your nose?"

"But it's all bruised now," she protests weakly, dropping her hands.

"Doesn't make you any less beautiful."

"You're being facetious, but I like it anyway." She hesitates only for a moment before leaping onto him and knocking him backwards on the bed, showering him with kisses.

"Damn, if this is how you're going to greet me every time I've been gone, I'll start leaving for days at a time." She laughs and shakes her head at him.

"You like me attacking you, remember?" He grins at this and presses a soft kiss to her lips before gently pushing her off of him.

"Is something wrong?"

"Yes, something is wrong."

"What?" she asks, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

"I've been thinking about this," he says, lifting her left hand and indicating the emerald ring. Her heart sinks. She has been afraid of this moment since he gave her the ring.

"And?"

She is fighting back tears as he takes it off and moves it to the ring finger of her right hand.

"Oh."

"I've been thinking about it a lot, and I think it's time for this instead." He pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out to her. She gasps and raises a shaky right hand to cover her mouth as he slides a diamond engagement ring onto her left ring finger.

"Draco-"

"I love you, and being away from you for these last four days has made me realize that I don't like not being near enough to touch you. I just wanted to give you this to ensure that my property remains mine."

She laughs and throws her arms around his neck.

"But I still have a year of school left," she protests finally, pulling away from him. "What are we going to do then?"

"I'm not too worried about that," he says coolly.

"Why not?"

"As a Professor, I'm not officially allowed to date a student, but the rules don't say that I can't be engaged to one." His words take a moment to sink in, but when they do, she lets out a loud _whoop_ and squeezes him tighter.

"Oh, Gods," she murmurs, tears blurring her vision. "I love you so much, it hurts."

"Trust me, I know the feeling," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

He holds her there for a long time, enjoying the feeling of her in his arms again, but longing for the time when he won't have to let her go and leave her. He remembers back to their first meeting; the first tutoring session.

If anyone had told him that the road he'd chosen would lead him here, he would never have believed them. Love was the stuff of fairy tales, and he was a murderer. Murderers do not get happy endings, because they don't deserve them.

He wonders if perhaps he died that night when he killed his father. That would make her love for him make more sense. He died that night, and she came to him and brought him back to life.

She has helped him learn to breathe again.


End file.
